
JO'BLN" G-ZE IRZR D^X) . 
Of mI dtversoris JW^?rt6vls here eri/ot/ . 
Oivenie the sweet airiuse/rie/ztr of Ihe^fieJstl; 
^%bove the rest, the u seerrt the Istz-ft to ckij, 
isHibci to a, troubled Breast irwst corrifdrt yieltU! 



POETICAL 



AND 



PROSE WOUKS, 

TRAVELS AND REMARKS. 



OF 



JOHN GERROND, 

&UTHOB OF THE POEMS DEDICATED TO SIR WILLIAM 
DOUGLAS OF CASTLE DOUGLAS, BART. 



Whoever thinks a faultless piedl to see, 
Thinks what ne er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be, 

Pops* 



LEITH; 

?BIXTED BV ARCHIBALD ALIABEICE rOK T8£ 
AUTHOR, 

1813c 




'<~: 



\ 






14 : 



V Y- 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



This being the Author's fourth, and per- 
haps his last publication, he desires to return 
his most grateful thanks for the very spirited 
and liberal patronage he has received from the 
public at large^ particularly from men who 
are distinguished for sound judgment, critical 
knowledge, and an accurate discrimination of 
poetical composition. 

If the flattery of the learned induced him to 
talk with printers (as mentioned in the Preface 
to his first Poems) the applause given to a few 
of his pieces makes him happy to learn the 
above mentioned class were not quite disap- 
pointed. Perhaps this will best appear when 
hb candidly tells them, that he had twelve 
hundred subscribers for his first Poems, and 
fourteen for his last Works, nine hundred of 
which were his former encouragers. 

The ignorant vulgar, sullen with envy, 
May breathe their scorn, but what the die! care I ; 
Whilst they look sour it only makes me laugh. 
Since I have friends to beat and chase them a£ 
a 3 



IV ADVERTISEMENT. 

This volume contains the whole of the Au- 
thor's works, his Poems published in 1802, 
and 1808, and his Works in 1811; to 
which are added a number of new pieces 
never before published, including a complete 
Description of Habbie's How, mentioned by; 
Allan Ramsay in his Gentle Shepherd, in prose 
and verse. 

It also contains a complete narrative of the 
Author's Life, with the particulars of his Tra- 
vels in the United States of America, and Pro- 
vince of Nova Scotia, having been five years in 
the former and two in the latter, during which 
time, besides visiting the chief cities, he spent 
a considerable portion of his time in the coun- 
try ; which enables him to give several origi- 
nal hints on agriculture, as it is practised in 
these places, and the produce of the different 
provinces which he surveyed 1 *; the rate of 
wages, relative value of money, and such 
other particulars as he deemed might be of uti- 
lity to those of his countrymen who may in fu- 
ture visit these parts. He has also given some 
account of the manners and customs of the 
people, and what they term their frolics, and 
the rural sweets enjoyed in that free and happy 
country. 

What geographers guess, select, and spell, 
Yell get it sterling what I've seen myseL 



ADVERTISEMENT. T 

In order to embellish the work, the Author 
has prefixed two prints, executed by an emi- 
nent artist. In the printing department he has 
spared no pains or ex-pence, and he trusts the 
execution is such as will be deemed not un- 
worthy of the liberal patronage which he has 
experienced from a numerous and respectable 
lkt of iubsorlbtrs, 

What ihough the first of Vulcan's $on$ I be 
That yet has tried to climb Parnasus hill, 
My fancy's wings it's way o'er land and sea, 
-Something that's new expect then from my quilL 



A & 



CONTENTS. 



Introduction 


« • 


Page 

9 


Life and Travels . 




» • 


16 


Preface to the Poems 




• • 


67 


The Peat-Moss . 




« 


69 


Advice to Bonaparte t 




• • 


78 


Dumfries Rood Fair 




• • 


8a 


Heroic Verses on killing a Fox 


• • 


98 


The Satirical Advertisement \ or the 


Effects of a 


Sair Thumb 


i # 


101 


The Shooting Advertisement 


• 


105 


Advertisement in Hartford, State Oj 


f Connecticut 109 


James Gerrond^s Elegit/ 


> a 


110 


> — > — Epitaph 


•. 


113 


Youth of James Clonnie 




ib. 


Cldnnie^s Elegy . , 


• 


115 


- Epitaph 


• 


119 


Dear Meal 


• 


120 


The Meal Market 


o 


125 


Peace and Plenty. 


• 


128 


Verses written on the General Peace \ 


, April 1802 131 


Satire on Scribblers 


• 


132 


The Poor Man Married . 




1 


134 



CONTENTS. Vj|. 

Page 

The Rough Journey . . , 13S 

Twa Doses wV ae Stane . » .142 

R D s*8 Blind Mare . . 146 

Epistle to Robert Rums ,. . .150 

Address to His Royal Highness Prince Edward 152 

Letter to J N ■, Esq, . . 153 

to J. H—h, Esq. . . 157 

The Rake and Clown . . . ih* 

The Disappointed Slat-Ride . * 160 

Letter to Mr W. D s . . 162 

to S — — R f Baker . .16* 

On hearing of J *s being Married 1 6Q 

Ladies Relieved . . . .167 
^ *SWg, occasioned by Prince Edwards leaving 

Halifax . . . .169 

Dog and Gun . . * 171 

Robert Burns'* Epitaph „ . . 172 

A Sportsman's Epitaph . . • 173 

A Hymn for the Author's Daughter . ib. 

The Extempore Bethanket . . 175 

Water of Orr . . . . ib. 

A Song on Kelton . . ,177 

A Song . . . , .17ft 

Oft Glasgow . . . ,180 

David Fisher's Epitaph . . , 181 

^ Letter to W — F—st . v ib. 

A Description of Habbie^s How . ♦ 183* 
-a4 



vm 



CONTENTS- 



Habbie^s How, a Song % % ! 


Page 

; .191 


Scots Boggles * , , 
The Good oj Grog ♦ , 
Address to the Immodest . 


192 
193 
195 


Verses to S« ■ ■ W , 


197 




i* oh 


TAe Portrait % 


lis* 

199 


TAe Tortoise-Shell, Extempore % « 


20ft 


TAe Humours of a Public House • 


201 


TAe Choice * % 


20$ 


The Ways of the Warld .. 
Charming Nelly % ^ 
ClennocharCs Potato 


207 
209 
210 


The Finishing of the Bottle * 


212 


Parton Place 


213 


Song on A. M^s being Major 
The Lass of the Hill 


214 
215 


Letter to Colonel G n ♦ 


216 



INTRODUCTION, 



Since through the various scenes of the Authors 
life, and from the different vicissitudes of fortune, 
he has found no real, solid satisfaction, it shall 
therefore be one of his chief ends, in the following^ 
narrative, to inquire whether or not mankind in 
general are not main actors in their own misfor- 
tunes. For my own part, I am not much of & 
predestinarian, one that gives himself to know fool- 
ishness and madness to see what may be the end 
thereof. Or, in other words, the man disdaining 
the beaten track through life, the rash, the intem- 
perate, the too aspiring ; I might add the man who 
considers not he can only be what the wise Dispo- 
ser of all events allows him to be. 

That I am, perhaps, rather fond of singularity:, 
is out of my power to deny ; had it not been so^ 
why write a narrative of my life ? whilst my hand- 
is about to write the date of my birth, perhaps 
Time may be dating the day of my death. 

1 am not so unacquainted with my ow r n charac- 
ter, as not to know that I am more nearly allied to~ 
that of a rambling fellow, than that of a steady 
industrious man. I have often envied the lat- 
ter in times of adversity ; but, alas ! we too 
soon forget what we resolve in impending danger, 

a 5 



ID INTRODUCTION. 

when the bright sunshine of prosperity oversha- 
dows the cloud of affliction. Never were these 
truths more impressed than when I was in Phila- 
delphia, when four thousand five hundred died in 
the course of five months. At that time I remained 
in the city the whole time; I prayed to God to 
spare me, and he was pleased to hear me. Old 
Manoah prayed for a child, and obtained a son be- 
loved and feared. But when Samson was eyeless 
in Gaza, a slave at the public mill, perhaps the old 
rnan wished he had rather put up with the reproach 
of barrenness, or that his prayers had never been 
heard. Often have I wished sinee that melancholy 
scene, that my eyes had been closed in Lombard 
Street, and that I had slept in Potter's Field. 

f Had some good angel op'd to me the book 
Of providence,, and let me read my life, 
My heart had broke, when I beheld the sum 
Of ills, which one by one I have endur'd. 
—That God, whose ministers good angels are, 
Kas shut the book in mercy to mankind.' 

Home, 

There is, T believe, no man of such fortitude as 
could, without agitation, look stedfastiy on the un- 
avoidable ills of futurity. If the hand- writing on 
the wall so distracted the King of Babylon, while 
he was uncertain what it portended ; if dreams, at 
this enlightened day, so much disturb the rest of 
men of the greatest minds and philosophical dis- 
crimination, what hero but would shudder at an ex- 
plicit view of doleful calamities decreed against him 
fcy an unerring hand On the other hand, set be- 
fore us all the flowery prospects; being assured of 



INTRODUCTION. 21 

one continued round of merriment, with an unin- 
terrupted series of every thing pleasing to the eye, 
and gratifying to desire, with all the voluptuous 
enjoyments that this world affords, this would be- 
more dangerous to us than the former Whilst 
some would dwindle into indolence and effemi- 
nacy, others would entirely forget God, and re- 
gardless of every principle of moral rectitude, com- 
mit every species of debauchery which deba-es hu- 
man nature, forgetful of amendment till their bo- 
dies became the victims of their detestable vices. 

But what a mercy is it for mankind, that the Al- 
mighty Creator looks not upon us as one censori- 
ous creature does upon another ; we have an in- 
stance of this in what is recorded of the men upon 
whom the tower of Siloam fell. I can see many 
pharisees and hypocrites, which it is needless to 
enumerate. One says I must go to the kirk to- 
day, or people will say I am a regardless wretch;, 
whilst our dame, as he calls her, bids shut the door 
till a week day job of two or three hours is com- 
pleted ; all this to gain a godly name in the neigh- 
bourhood. Fools that they are, can he not see 
through dark clouds. 

Could I, from what I have seen of others and 
experienced myself, in any degree promote the in- 
terest or happiness of such youths as are entering 
on the theatre of life, it would be highly agreeable 
to me. But some will be ready to say, it must be 
by precept, and not from good example. This may 
be true, but however ridiculous or singular the" 
transactions of my youth may have been 5 or the^ 
a 6 



12 



INTRODUCTION. 



still more inconsiderate actions of mature age, they 
would.be still more so in the turn of life, when the 
blood is more cool by experience, the spirits less 
ardent, and the passions subsided. 

We are daily talking of happiness, but it is too 
much to be lamented, we often take the wrong road 
for obtaining it; pride, and ambition to be great, at 
any rate, amplitude of possessions, seems our main 
aim to constitute happiness. But, in the words of 
our favourite bard, 6 Self-control is wisdom's root/ 
Health too, that precious jewel, is hourly praised 
and despised. Now, although there is none so ig- 
norant as not to know that without health there 
is no real happiness, yet, I confess, that in all my 
travels I never saw any creature so industrious to 
destroy health as man, he is as prodigal of it as if 
it would last too long. 

Permit me to make one remark before I close 
this part of my subject. Two years and a quarter 
had elapsed from the time of the yellow-fever till 
I returned again to Philadelphia, and I am sorry 
to say, that people of all ages and ranks, and the 
whole circle of my old acquaintances, were more 
desperately wicked than before that awful scene 
of mortality took place ; so that I may truly say, 
* The living laid it not to heart/ Only three years 
are past since my last excursion round this country, 
when I had an opportunity of remarking the ways 
and manners of the people in general. The only 
improvement I have now to relate, is foppery in 
dress, pride, and the increase of drinking ; which, 
m my opinion, is the fatgl cause of numberless 



INTRODUCTION 7 . 13 

diseases, the fomenter of tumultuous and turbulent 
passions, and the grand source from which most of 
the other vices are fed. The hoary headed boast 
of conquests in drinking, though tottering on the 
brink of the grave. The boy of fourteen is now-a- 
days a votary of Bacchus, struts into a tavern with 
as much boldness as one of twenty-one did since I 
remember ; and even takes amiss to be told that he 
is ignorant, or never paid his addresses at the shrine 
of Venus. Why are we astonished then if men in 
modern times are in danger of dwindling down to 
dwarfs and pigmies? The truth is, in large towns 
in particular, w T hen I see a young man meagre, 
languid, and pale, with an infirm step, and con- 
fused and bewildered countenance, I am apt within 
my own mind to impute this to drinking to excess, 
or what is still worse, to being scorched on the 
summers of lust's furnace. 

That I have practised one thing and wrote an- 
other, will be obvious to many of my acquaintance. 
This laudable desire, the candid and discerning 
reader will allow to be just ; and I hope the rake 
will not, with too grate haste, condemn my salu- 
tary cautions, nor the rigidly pious and delicate 
say I have overstepped the bounds of modesty, 
Seeing real soul well-wishing divines, all the mi- 
serable misfortunes brought on by intemperance 
in this wicked age, the most powerful orator, 
with all the most persuasive arguments from the 
pulpit, adding to these the paternal injunctions of 
an indulgent father, aud the tender admonitions of 
# careful mother, ere insufficient to reclaim youth 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

from their vices, I have attempted, by a kind of 
singular method, to promote happiness, and deter 
the unwary from the numberless evils which dis- 
turb the mind, spoil our peace, and destroy our 
tranquillity. Should I never have the satisfaction 
of knowing this to have the intended effect in my 
life, I trust it will give me no uneasiness at the 
hour of my death 

Were I to say that I gave myself to know fool- 
ishness and madness, as I hinted above ; were I to 
say that I explored countries with indefatigable 
stride, or viewed in fearful suspence the stupen- 
dous white topped wave in the gulf stream of Flo- 
rida, and the high swelling of the western ocean, 
all to benefit mankind, it would be telling a lie« 
No ; it was to indulge fancy, satisfy desire, gratify 
curiosity, and a thirst of independence. 

* Not for to hide it in a hedge, nor for a train attendant, 
Eut for the glorious privilege of being independent.' 

Burns. 

I have often heard it regretted that the above 
quoted poet did not write on more serious subjects : 
but without a mixture of humour no modern poet 
will ever be read ; the mind must be diverted, if 
we mean to fix the attention. Nevertheless, I de- 
clare I have been so pleased in this kind of edify- 
ing strain, that I leave it with as much reluctance 
as a poacher does the sunny side of a red -land brae 
in a frosty morning, expecting every moment that 
timmer-shanks will rise. 

Now things come to the point ; but who bids 
me give aa account of myself ? Surely this must be 



INTRODUCTION 15 

a strange undertaking ? Well "'tis no matter ; it is 
a very great deal to be honest, and to keep oneV 
word. I have promised to fourteen hundred sub* 
scribers in the following verse, 

Like Samson, Ml not tell you all my heart, 
Yet, 'thout reserve you'll get the greatest part, 

As I find some persons have enlarged very freely 
on my frolics, it will only be doing myself justice 
to give the public a fair statement of them from 
my own hand. 



THE 

LIFE AND THAVELS 
JOHN GERROND* 



t 1 he first proof of my dissatisfaction in this world; 
I am told, was indicated by crying on the night of 
the llth of November 1765, being Old Hallow- 
een, about twelve o'clock, in that house called the 
Gateside of Bar, otherwise Gateside of Knocks 
drocket, in the parish of Kirkpatrick Durham^ 
where Dr Lamont is at present Minister. - 

Had Endors witch that night been there, 
Could not tald how with me 'twould fare, 
The ups and downs and every where, 

Your bard has been ; . 
Nor Jean, wha spaed by pouing hair, 

Frae whare ye ken. 

The abovementioned house is distant from- 
Dumfries about fourteen miles, on the Old Muir 
road to New Galloway, and about two hundred 
yards from the Water of Orr In this place 
my father, Andrew Gerrond, lived twenty years, 
and followed the trade of a blacksmith, he also 
kept an inn, and rented a small Farm of Mr Fra«* 
4&er of BaF, I must not omit to mention,, that 



THE LIFE AND TRAVELS. &C. 17 

I have a hereditary right to rhyming, my father 
having written several small pieces. For the re- 
gard I bear my venerable parent, I shall give you 
one of his verses verbatim, as it was taken from 
a song he composed on Sir William Douglas's 
estate. 

* O our hearts they are sorry since he went awa*, 
But we hope hell return soon to brave Galloways 
To sing of the laurel, the pink, and the rose, 
And all the fine flowers in the forest that grows.' 

Why should not smiths be poets, since it is 
said that music was invented from the sound of 
•the anvil ? Burns tells us his muse found him at 
the plough, Bloomfield was a shoemaker, and 
Allan Ramsay a barber. Before I quit this subject, 
I wish to make an observation with regard to an 
injurious aspersion against the memory of the last 
mentioned author, viz, that he was not the sole au- 
thor of the Gentle Shepherd, an insinuation that 
I never hear without being filled with indignation. 
Though a learned dunce may suggest a thought, 
image, or metaphor, that does not infer he is qua- 
lified to excel in finishing a piece. A printer may 
print a book, and a clerk make a copy, by his 
master's directions, without being entitled to any 
claim on the genius of invention. 

The celebrated Ben Jonson was a bricklayer, 
and many trades and callings have excelled, but I 
have not heard of any who imbibed the genius of 
poesy from the sound of the treadles, or the chirp- 
ing of a yarn beam. 



18 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

"Pis true faint imitations may be made, - 
In Scots blank verse, though scarcely ever read ; : 
Though reverend rhymers may a battle drop, 
Fear too much rudeness least they stain their coat, 
Though called wasp think not worth to rebel 
Since threatened with a sting new fraught from helU 

But as for me, let's hear nae future claims, 
Or dread to feel Vulcanian hornet arms ; 
I'll hint nae raair, just thank me and forgie me, 
Thou t ■ ■ ■ f and copier from R— — h Jamie* 

My mother's name was Jean Halliday, a woman 
universally beloved, and conspicuous beyond her 
sphere in life. I remember her perfectly well, al- 
though I was only eleven years of age when she 
died. Though not of a flattering address, her 
complaisant behaviour gained her the esteem of 
all, from the gentleman to the peasant. 

When Senior Samuel, keen upo' the twalt, 
Strode stately oer the muir with flask and belt, 
(Name not the rush you oft see sloping bend, 
For straight as the States' poplar was my friend), 
Flax-dresser Ch?rley, teugh upo' the bent, 
Arrived at Jean s they're happy and content. 

My father was what we call a simple, inof- 
fensive, honest man ; he died last year, aged S3. 
When I was about ten years of age we removed 
from Gateside to Causeway-end, now Castle Dou- 
glas. I remember nothing worth relating whilst 
we resided at Gateside, or any thing prophetic of 
my courting the muses ; I remember to have heard 
people say that I was a wily boy, that I had not 
my tale a seeking, and that I had droll and new 
comparisons. The first that put the book in my 
&and was an Elizabeth Dixon, I afterwards went 



OF JOHN GERRONDa 19 

to several schoolmasters in the neighbourhood. 
Learning any thing by heart was to me very easy, 
and my father once intended me to follow learn- 
ing. Water mills, bows and arrows, and fishing, 
were my chief diversions. 

While we resided at Gateside, I set the water 
on Crogo Mill, in order to lessen the pool when I 
was fishing for trouts ; the water was at first sa 
weak that if had not sufficient power to drive the 
mill, but a very heavy rain coming on set the mill 
agoing, all my art could not stop her, and she 
went all the night The stones being close on 
each other were ground perfectly smooth, and the 
rungs and cogs were broken. I wondered as much 
as any one (although well I knew) who had set on 
the mill, but I never told it for seven years after, 

About the year 1775, we removed to Cause- 
way end, where I worked with my father at his 
business. In 1776 my mother died, and in a 
twelvemonth after my father was married to He- 
len Affleck. She proved a very loving and indus- 
trious wife; and, according to my judgment of 
women, not a bad stepmother. From this you 
may be ready to conclude that her and I were of 
a side; but this was not long the case, for I 
never could endure petticoat government. I left 
her, and bound myself apprentice to a Nathaniel 
Watson, who was likewise a blacksmith, for I 
loved the trade only that it was black ; but of this 
more hereafter. As I never had been used to be 
close confined, although stout of my age, I was ob* 
liged to leave it and return to my father. Here 



20 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

the reflection of ungratefulness first seized me; 
the leaving of my father at a time when I was just 
beginning to reward him for the toil he had been 
at in rearing me, gave me great uneasiness. My 
father, doubtless, like many others, delighted him- 
self with the thoughts of the many happy days 
which awaited him when his daughter and four sons 
were grown up. But I am certain he never had 
so much pleasure in us as when we sat on. his knee, 
and he flattered himself with what we might be* 
and sung us Bessy Bell, or the Shepherds of Gal- 
loway. May I guess at my father's thoughts, and^ 
alas ! the thoughts of many thousands. 

Ah f stubborn children, little do you know 
The grief that breaks my heart 's the pangs of woe ^ 
Yet nature binds, so I these ills must bear, 
Fleeting and short is each enjoyment here. 

When I got stout I returned to my master and 
served out my time. I was now sixteen years of 
age, about which time I composed my first verses, 
a satirical song ; but as the people on whom it was 
written are still alive I have never published it. 
Till about this time I could not relish to toy or 
see others toying w T ith the lasses ; and although I 
now fell very briskly to sweet-hearting, I was 
fully resolved never to marry. 

After working a year as journeyman, I took a 
trip through Smith's College,* and returned and 
commenced business for myself at Clarkbrand, in 
the parish of Cross Michael, where I kept bache- 
lor's hall for three years. About this time I was 

* England. 



of john gerrond: 21 

steady and industrious, and had I continued so, ac- 
cording to the opportunities I have had since, I 
might have been worth something considerable. 

As I now come to relate some of the singulari- 
ties that I have mentioned above, the reader must 
keep in mind that I am not writing so much with 
a view to please as to state facts ; therefore, with- 
out further prefatory remarks, I shall go on with 

rnv narrative. 

•i 

My dog and gun, and modest sweet-hearting ? 
were two of my chief diversions. You will no 
doubt think the value I set upon freedom very ex- 
travagant, when I did not think there was a wo- 
man in existence too good, rich, or handsome, to 
give her my hand, and sell the sweet single free- 
dom I then enjoyed Nor do I think otherwise at 
this day. I often observed, that my courtship for 
marriage would not be long, for I was completely 
fickle. I was far from believing there was such a 
thing as to be sick in love ; neither there is, till 
(like Will, w r hose portriat I have drawn in the 
poem Peat-Moss,) a man seethe object of his mo- 
dest affections. This: was my case ; and I shall 
give it to you in the words of the piece before men- 
tioned, which were perfectly applicable to me at 
that time. 

"Mangst braw lasses Will had pleased him, 

Toy'd and kissed wi' mony a score, 
But this e'ening something teased him 

Yet unkend or felt before. 

. This experienced Johnny as well as Willy ; for, 



22 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

to tell you the truth, the first time I saw Miss 
Elizabeth M'Min, and talked with her, I thought 
if ever I had seen among the fair sex a woman 
able to make a man happy in the married state, it 
was she. In this I was not mistaken ; virtue, pru- 
dence, genius, fortitude, with an excellent natural 
disposition, all met in my sweet Betsey. Few wo- 
men have had more need of patience and fortitude 
than she, of which the subsequent part of this nar- 
rative will convince the reader. She was daughter 
of Andrew M'Min, a very respectable farmer, in 
the parish of Balmaghie. We were married on 
the 2Gth of February 1791, with the consent of all 
parties concerned. One would be ready to ima- 
gine from all this, that things would go on well ; 
but let it not be imagined that a couple does al- 
ways well when things are thus agreeable, or that 
they thrive the worse when their marriage is much 
opposed. 

Here I must not omit to relate a few of the 
neighbouring gazetteer^cs" observations on the bad 
omens which attended our marriage. A man was 
buried in the church-yard, whilst we were wedded 
in the church, and a cat leaped out of the seat ; 
the day we were kirked, a large hare crossed the 
road before us, on our way home ; another report 
was, that a man warlocked me, In short, it would 
exceed the size of my volume were I to enter into 
a full detail of all the ridiculous and nonsensical 
stuff that was circulated in the neighbourhood on 
this occasion. One of the remarks made at this 
time was, that the ill-prayers of my former sweet- 



OF JOHN GERROND. 23 

hearts had fallen upon me. In answer to this, I 
can only say, that I never had promised marriage 
to any ; and, to let you into a secret, in a short 
time after my wedding, I wished I had never been 
married. Nor is wedlock a favourite of mine to 
this day, which the poem ' Poor Man Married, ' 
will serve to convince the reader of. Not that, 
upon mature deliberation, I would dissuade from 
lawful marriage ; because, I think, if there is any 
thing decreed by the Almighty it is lawful marri- 
age. Notwithstanding, it is a state above all others 
not to be entered upon rashly. 

Shortly after this one of my legs swelled, and it 
was said, that in the cure of it I got mercury from 
the doctor, that flew to my head and confused 
me. Now, though I blame the devil for very 
little, in comparison of what some are inclined to 
do, I believe if ever he was present to do me an 
ill turn it was about this time. One afternoon 
when my leg was nearly whole, and I was get- 
ting well in health and spirits, being able to work 
while standing in the shop door, two horses in a 
cart took fright and ran off; I got in before them 
on purpose to stop them, when they ran smack 
over me. 

My newly made wife witnessed this frightful 
scene under such emotions as the reader may ima- 
gine ; she told me she stood to see whether I moved 
or not. I tried to rise but could not ; and mv 
wife helped me home, much bruised and dis- 
spirited; 

A comforter in sorrow is often meant by a female 



companion ; but a wife to me at this time, though 
I had not any reason to doubt her tenderness or 
love, only served to aggravate my affliction. Why 
so ? says some old domesticated fool. I will give 
you my reason ; here was a young female, whom 
I then and do yet consider, as one of the first of 
her sex, brought by me from the midst of cheer- 
fulness and plenty, possibly, said I to myself, to 
drag out a miserable life on my account ; for I had 
little hopes of recovering. At this time I repented 
of being married at all, and thought, it a pity that 
such an agreeable creature should so soon be in- 
volved in misfortunes. Considering myself lost to 
all worldly happiness, I turned melancholy, and 
gloomy thoughtfulness quite overwhelmed me. 

While in this situation, I recollected of having 
heard people say, that to remove from where mis- 
fortunes happen is the only cure for them. I soon 
tried it, and was getting fast better, when a rela- 
tion, for I cannot call him friend, hearing where 
I was, followed me and brought me home. This, 
to be done through a good design, was the worst 
thing that could have been done to me, and what 
I found it very hard to forgive. 

Though strength, vigour, and cheerfulness, had 
forsaken me, pride still remained, and I hated to 
see any of my old acquaintances, especially those 
whom I understood to have been busy in passing 
skits on me, and whom in former days I would 
not have set with the dogs of my flock. Now was 
the time for the whole tribe of gazeteerers, and 
the remembrance of the large hare, the burial in 



OF JOHN GERROND, 25 

time of the marriage, and the cat's leaping out of 
the seat. 

But now the real Balm of Gilead must be tried* 
for they must have it that I was witched. A cat 
was brought, a circle formed, and the cat made to 
jump five times out and in of the ring. To finish 
the whole, the w r arlock man was brought, w ho 
made, I must own, a long sensible prayer; but 
here was the grand mistake, I shook hands with 
him afterwards, which renewed the spell. I could 
not help smiling at these ridiculous ceremonies. 
I have not promised to tell all my heart, and the 
candid reader will not find fault with me for con- 
cealing some of my thoughts while in this melan- 
choly situation. 

* He makes himself a servile wretch. 

And that for evermore, 
. Who tells his secrets unto such 

As knew them not before.' 

Far beyond my most sanguine expectations, I 
recovered. I came abroad like an over-hauled 
maiden, and imagined for some time that every 
whisper was about myself. Misfortunes have a 
different effect on different dispositions, and the 
dissatisfaction I now felt new modelled my natu- 
ral temper, and stamped a kind of morose sourness 
on it, which I have, at times, felt the disagreeable 
effects of. 

Before leaving this part of my history, I shall 
take notice of some things which I hope all those 
who wish well to themselves will avoid. I gave 
a loose to many irregularities and boyish follies^ 



26 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

that formerly I would have disdained, and had I 
added to these indiscretions the practice of follow- 
ing wine and women, it might have terminated 
in some very fatal consequences. Of drink (to be 
so much in convivial company) I was very abste- 
mious. I do not wonder though some sprightly 
men, who dress on the macaroni side, have access 
to the modest fair's company, even though they 
have had the sentence of marriage passed upon 
them. 

5 Tis incongruous to insinuate, 

Or to entice the turtle from it's mate. 

Some of my relations, who shall be nameless, 
sold my shop tools and coals, the money of which 
I got but an indifferent account of It was sug- 
gested to me by some of my relations, to com- 
mence business in the neighbourhood of Dumfries, 
I did so, indifferent whether it succeeded or not. 
While in this careless state, I signed an account 
drawn up by some of my forementioned tutors. 
Instead of giving a full account of this transaction, 
as I once intended, I shall content myself with 
saying of the above relations, it is not for nothing 
the glead whistles. 

Business crowded upon me unsolicited, till I had 
employment for myself, two journeymen, and an 
apprentice. I put up a sign, upon which was the 
following inscription besides my name, inclosed 
with mourning streaks, Hit on mislucks a\ — The 
case is altered. From what I have related above 
the reader may guess the meaning of this. 



OP JOHN GERROND. 27 

Thus I have given a complete history of my 
life till this period ; I trust it will be both edify- 
ing and entertaining. Being now got a little more 
into spirits, I resumed my favourite diversion of 
the dog and gun; but even at this I enjoyed not 
my wonted tranquillity. At last I entertained an 
idea of going to America. As I was expert in dif- 
ferent branches of my business, I imagined that I 
could accumulate a considerable sum in the space of 
three or four years ; for I only intended to stay 
that time and return On the thoughts of leaving 
such an agreeable companion, ; I often rued and 
swithered,*' as M'Neil expresses it. At last I re- 
solved to go, whatever might happen after. I 
therefore rouped off my furniture and tools, ex- 
cept such as might accommodate my wife in house- 
keeping. And now for the land of freedom. 

I left Dumfries on the 10th of April 1793, re- 
solved once more to save money if possible. I 
-worked in Belfast ten days, till the brig I had 
taken my passage in was ready, she was called the 
London Packet of Belfast, Captain James Kear- 
ney. We sailed from opposite Carric-kfergus on 
the 25th of April. Now, as I am crossing the 
ocean, and taking the reader to a foreign country, 
I shall relate nothing but what I have seen or 
know to be absolute truth. 

Little worth remarking happened on our pas- 
sage, few were sick and none died. A boy was 
born on the passage. The mother, her husband, 
and three children, had their births opposite to 
mine, on the starboard side of the vessel. When 

b2 



"28 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

the woman was taken ill she cried she was in tra- 
vail, < Then/ said I, < I shall travel too/ and run 
up the hatch-way. Happily for her, an elderly wo- 
man and her four daughters were next birth to her, 
who assisted her in place of a midwife. The cap- 
tain allowed a candle to be burnt below, and gave- 
her a bottle of wine and some cabin biscuit, and 
she recovered in a short time. 

One of our passengers was a young man who 
seemed far gone in a decline, and whose lungs we 
supposed would be exhausted in a few day. But 
in this we w T ere mistaken ; for Billy kept a good 
heart, he capered, dance, sung, and drank, and 
from a mere skeleton got quite well, and was 
married shortly after we landed at New York. 
We were well stocked with provisions, and had 
plenty of water ; of the former we had beef, pork, 
potatoes, oatmeal, molasses, and very good biscuit. 

Of the birds we saw on our passage were niddy- 
abouts, as the sailors call them, or puffins ; it is 
the size of a common teal, and has a white breast ; 
this bird never goes far from land. Mother Ca- 
rey's Chickens are to be seen in the middle of the 
ocean ; they are about the size and colour of what 
we call a bullfinch in Scotland. They followed 
the wake of our vessel, and picked the slush, or 
crumbs of bread, of which they seemed very fond. 
I shot one of them with the captain's gun. It is 
uncertain how tlrey breed, by some it is said they 
hatch under their wing, but this I consider as con- 
jecture, or rather impossible. A sheerwater, is 
about the size of a grey sea-maw, what it lives on 
is uncertain a 



OP JOHN GERROND. 2^ 

The porpoises, or sea-hogs, which at times sur- 
rounded the ship, were without number. The truth 
is, that on a clear day, as far as we could see on 
all sides, they seemed not above a yard from each 
other. r Tis a certain fact, which I saw myself, that 
the minute one is struck they all disappear ; this 
notice is given by turning their heads all oneway. 
We saw only two sharks during our passage. I 
made a hook on the flew of the anchor, and found 
I could take a welding heat by the wind of the 
hand-bellows. Our trial was in vain, as we could 
take none of them. We saw flying fish also, they 
are about the size of salmon fry ; some of them 
came on board our vessel in a squall. We ob- 
served many whales spouting the water very high, 
but could not get a proper view of themselves. 

At the Banks of Newfoundland, or the half-way- 
house, as the seamen call it, Neptune, as they pre- 
tended, came on board. Here there is sound- 
ings, and every man who has not crossed the At- 
lantic before must pay a bottle of rum, or the 
price of it; and here all the young sailors ar& 
brothered. This laughable ceremony is performed 
in the following manner. 

All the passengers are put down the main haixh ; 
one of the oldest sailors, dressed in a pair of wide 
trowsers, and a pea-jacket, with a cap nicked round 
the edges, stands ready at the hatch as they are 
brought up one by one, artd with him they must 
all shake hands, his hand being full of pitch and 
slush : this no one escapes. Next every -sailor 
b 3 



30 



THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 



who has not crossed is brothered. Neptune* 
with the assistance of the ship^s crew, places them* 
willing or unwilling, in a large tub full of salt 
water ; sitting in this posture half waist up, clothes 
and all, two or three above them, in the long boat? 
with tubs and buckets of water, pour it down on 
them all at once. To conclude the scene, Nep- 
tune stands by with a nicked stick, which is 
greased, this he runs across their gums or fore- 
teeth, and obliging them to speak, swears them 
thus : That they will never go up the lee-shroud 
when they can get to the weather ; — that they will 
never drink water when they can get grog ; — nor 
kiss the maid- when they can get the mistress. 
Another bucket of water poured down upon them 
finishes the whole. 

We had no very heavy storms, or any thing 
carried away. On the 18th of June, about four 
o^clock, we discovered land, which was the small 
hills of sand on Staten Island ; it appeared to me 
something like a white mist seen obscurely. We 
stood out to sea all night, which was very calm ; 
about sun-rise next morning a breeze sprung up, 
and w r e bore away for our intended port. A pilot 
came on board us about twelve o^clock, who went 
below with the captain for half an hour, and then 
came on deck and took command of the vessel : 
which gave me an opportunity of passing a joke 
with the captain. On our passage we were always 
inquiring of those who kept reckoning how far we 
were from New York; one day, however, we 
spoke a brig, who told us we were much -nearer 



OP JOHN GERROND. 



31 



than our own people bad said; I then observed, 
< HI fash nae mair w? them.' The captain meet- 
ing me on the quarter-deck, < Well John,' says 
he, « I believe youVe gaun to fash nae mair wi' us 
now.' When the pilot took command, I stepped 
up to the captain and said, < I think, Sir, ye dinna 
fash ony mair wY them now.' At which the pilot 
and him took a hearty laugh. 

Staten Island was on our starboard side, and 
Long Island on our larboard, which forms the 
mouth of Hudson's river, and harbour of New 
York. The trees being clad in their green livery^ 
this, with the orchards and fields of Indian corn, 
and the handsome country-houses, much delighted 
us to look upon. The water is bold up to the 
very quay, whether the tide be in or out. We 
set our feet on shore about sun set. I slept on 
board that night, and went onshore next morning 
into the city. 

New York stands upon arising ground, and one 
gets a very good view of it while sailing up the 
harbour. In walking up Water Street I heard a 
fiddler playing the Flowers of Edinburgh ; this 
tune, and the Soldier's Joy, is common wherever I 
have travelled. The streets of this city are very- 
irregular, strait, and ill-paved. The public build- 
ings, in my opinion, are little inferior to those of 
Philadelphia. The city hall is very neat, and the 
gaol is the handsomest building of the kind I ever 
saw. There is several presbyterian churches, and 
an English chapel, one for quakers, and one for 
Methodists. It has three market places; the 
b 4 



32 THE LTFE AND TRAVELS 

Swego market, where the fruit is sold, is very 
beautiful. There is a half-moon battery for the 
protection of the harbour, which they employ to 
perfection on the day of Independence. There is 
a great many trees alongside of the streets, here 
and there. In this city is what they call the Silk 
Stocking men ; on a particular day of the year 
they all meet dressed very fine, but in particular 
having all on silk stockings. The laws here are 
much the same as in England. ' A man cannot be 
arrested or put in gaol for a less sum than ten 
pounds; nevertheless his property can be secured 
for the debt. They have a very strong and well 
regulated police. One night I happened to be out 
late and was questioned by a police-man, when I 
accompanied him of choice to the guard-house, 
where there was a great number they had taken 
up. In the morning, those who had been guilty 
of any crime were sent to Bridewell, and those 
%vho had only been out late were set at liberty. 

Of Philadelphia. 

Philadelphia is allowed by most travellers to be 
one of the handsomest cities in the world. It is 
laid out in the form of a checker-board, the streets 
crossing each other at right angles. The market, 
or main street, which runs east and west through 
the middle of the city, between the rivers Dela- 
ware and Schuylkill, is about 225 feet wide. In 
the end next the Delaware there is three of the 
cleanest and most elegant market places which I 
suppose any traveller ever saw. They are named 



OF JOHN G&RRGND. 33 

the Jersey, the Philadelphia, and Pennsylvania 
Markets ; the latter of which is the flesh market. 
The roofs of these markets are arched, sustained 
on pillars of brick, and plastered. The floors are 
laid with brick of different colours, finely glazed. 
They are kept remarkably clean, being completely 
washed every Wednesday and Friday morning, the 
days on which the markets are held. (I do not 
wonder that our ladies cannot think of going to 
market in many parts of Great Britain, as they 
have such a disagreeable smell, that I confess it 
annoys me very much.) The meat is all brought to 
the city in waggons on the morning of the market 
day, as no cattle are allowed to be killed in the city. 
The Wednesday market is the greatest, mercantile 
people, many of whom come from 60 to 70 miles, 
having most time to return within the week. Four 
wheeled waggons are universally used here; and 
yet I do not see why carts would not be useful, 
especially on a farm. One hundred waggons may 
be seen at once in Market Street, besides what are 
scattered through other parts of the city. 

The new goal, which is very large, is the only 
building ot whinstone, in the city ; it stands be- 
tween Sixth, and Seventh street. There is also a 
house in Second Street, built partly of wlimstone, 
and covered witn Engnsn slate, the property of 
D.ooaon Young, printer and stationer, who is a 
Scotchman, from I'erth. The Sew Theatre, built 
of brick, stands between Chesnut and Market 
Street. The Hospital, which is a very ele^aut 
structure, stands between Spruce Street and Lon^ 

b d 



34 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

bard Street There is an Academy likewise, but 
not elegant in proportion to the other public build- 
ings. The Court, or State-House, is another very 
handsome building. Bingham's Buildings, which 
is a private gentleman's house, is perhaps the most 
neat and elegant building in Philadelphia ; it occu- 
pies a w r hole square in Spruce Street. There is 
several English and presbyterian churches, Roman 
Catholic chapels, and Quaker meeting houses, a 
Whig meeting-house, and a Swedish church. It 
is no matter by what profession, so they at last 
enter the mansions of bliss. 

This being the city in which I resided longest, 
and likewise the largest in America, takes the more 
time in describing. The streets are very wide and 
well paved ; the foot walks at the side are laid 
with bricks, and six persons may walk a-breast un- 
incumbered. To keep the bricks from shifting, 
undressed marble is laid betwixt them and the 
pavement, which indeed appears no better than a 
granite, or gray stone. The streets are delight- 
fully shaded with different kinds of trees, but 
chiefly dripping willows. Here they are considered 
to build the handsomest vessels, though not so 
staunch as in England. As they are much carved 
and ornamented on the sterns, the English, by way 
of skit, call them gingerbread sterns. From Cape 
May to Philadelphia is about 150 miles Small 
craft and lighters have water about twenty miles 
above the city Th^re is a floating bridge over 
the Schuylkill, over which the heaviest waggons 
can go with safety ; it is jointed in the middle with 



OF JOHN GERROND. 37 

iron hinges, much stronger than any rudder bands 
I ever saw. When heavy rains swell the river., to 
preserve the bridge, they unhinge it in the middle 
and allow it to swing down the river; when the 
tide flows they join it together. 

The houses are built oi brick and wood, of late 
years they are mostly of the former ; their height 
is generally two, three, and four storys. Most of 
the inhabitants wash the pavements before their 
doors on the Saturday evenings, and it is very de- 
lightful to walk through the city on the morning 
of a summer Sunday. 

From what I have said above, the reader may 
be apt to conclude that I would prefer living in 
this city to any other in America; yet the city of 
Hartford, in the State of Connecticut, is my fa- 
vourite, of all the places I ever saw in America. 
One observation more, and I am done with this 
beautiful city until I come to give an account of 
the yellow fever. If one wishes to see a multitude 
of handsome men and women, dressed in the gayest 
and most sumptuous attire that the riches of the 
Indies can afford, they will meet with a most com- 
plete eye- feast by entering the State-House Yard 5 
on a summer Sunday, 

In my way from Philadelphia to Baltimore, 
which is 99 miles, I passed through a small town 
called Dumfries, near to which If saw the first saw- 
mill;, this mill is driven by a low, or what they 
call a flutter-wheel. The frame in which the saw* 
is fixed, for there is but one blade, is like the sash 
of a window ; ouq in the same manner slides the- 
b 6 



36 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

log towards the saw, by means of a pole shod in 
the end with iron ; whilst the saw is up the log is 
pushed forward, and the saw cuts whatever is fed 
into it. How many feet it saws in a day I did not 
learn. At the great falls of Maryland, I stepped 
into a forge where they were making iron ; I 
counted thirteen water-mills in this work ; fifty 
men were employed in it, most of them were ne- 
groes, and alas ! poor massa had no clothing ex- 
cept a pair of thin trowsers. 

I sailed from Elk for Baltimore on board a small 
sloop. Baltimore Bay is the most beautiful I have 
seen. At Baltimore I worked ten days ; it is but 
a new town, the streets are irregular, dirty, and 
ill-paved. My employer, a Thomas Sheppard, 
told me wood for making fences had got so scarce 
that they were obliged to herd the cattle as in 
some places of Scotland. 

From Baltimore I returned to Philadelphia, and 
afterwards went to Lancaster, a distance of 66 
miles. This is the most beautiful inland town in 
America ; it is laid out in the form of Philadel- 
. phia. The inhabitants are mostly Dutch. I only 
staid one night and returned. There is no proper 
turnpike road in all America except between the 
last mentioned cities, on which there is likewise a 
toll-bar. 

I returned to Philadelphia fully resolved to set- 
tle and try for the imaginary fortune I had pro- 
mised myself in Scotland before I started ; I kept 
close to work, saved every halfpenny that I could, 
and spent none. Here, as in my young days, or 



OF JOHN GERROND, 



37 



Clarkbrand days, I was once more solicitous to 
gain money, character, and esteem ; I acquired 
the two latter, and part of the former. In a short 
time I built a small shop in Spruce Street, between 
Fifth and Sixth Street. I did not long enjoy it ; 
I got hurt of a strain, which I shall describe to 
the reader in the following verses, which I sent in 
a letter to Dr John Mays in Philadelphia. 

Alas ! my golden days are o'er, 
Like ship stranded on a lee shore, 
My bow plank by hard strain is tore, 

And ceiling split, 
The gut smiths tell me o'er and o'er, 

It will not knit. 

It is a true observation, \ That one ill seldom 
comes alone,'' for npw began the desolating yellow 
fever, in which died 4500 in five months All 
trade not only grew worse, but I may say stopped. 
I may well say fortune and me never drew one 
way. What a flowery prospect was here de- 
stroyed ! a good shop, good tools, money to carry 
on business, and plenty of friends to assist me. 
As the masters that had employed me left the city 
I fell into their custom, but in a short time there 
was not a journeyman to be got, though I had 
plenty of work for two or three. At last I got 
unable to work, lost heart, and sold my shop at 
half what it cost me ; of the people that owed me 
money some died, and others went to the country 
and never returned. 

Did the limits of my volume admit of it, I could 
give a tolerable description of the yellow fever, and 



38 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

its dreadful effects in Philadelphia at this time ; 
but I shall content myself with giving a few par- 
ticulars. Some were of opinion that it originated 
from a cargo of green hides imported from the 
West Indies ; others that it came by the dead body 
of a black man brought among; these hides. ,It was 
also said to have been in the sugar and in the tea ; 
it was likewise said to have arisen from poison be- 
ing put into the pump-wells. These, however, 
were mere random conjectures. One thing may be 
remarked, it was neither the very old nor very 
young that fell victims to it, but the middle aged 
of both sexes, None of the blacks died of it to my 
knowledge. 

The symptoms of this dreadful malady were a 
pain in the forehead, yellow skin and eyes, yellow 
spots on the body, and a great thirst. I could ob- 
serve a doleful look stamped on the faces of the 
people, from the boy of five years and upwards. 

Whereas in common times you might meet 309 
people in walking a square, in this period you would 
hardly meet two. Negroes carrying the sick to 
hospitals, and hearses carrying the dead to burying- 
grounds, was all the stir to be seen on the streets. 
At last no plane was laid on the richest man's cof- 
fin ; a father would not go into a room to witness 
his son or daughter's death ; and the relations of 
the deceased only went two or three steps along 
with the black man and the hearse which carried off 
the corpse. All the burying-grounds had lamps 
burned in them, and they buried night and day ; 
the black trotted away with the corpse and galloped 



OP JOHN GERROND. 59 

back again. In Potters Field, they at last digged 
places like cellars, and piled one coffin on the top 
of another, with a layer of earth between It was 
said they carried off the dead in such haste that 
some came alive when at the grave, and walked 
back again. I have some reason to think that one 
man, with the assistance of two others, did so ; 
but I am doubtful of the whole. One fact more I 
shall relate. Out of the family of Godfrey Gab- 
lerdied seven smiths, his daughter, and a mulatto. 
It was remarked at the time, that few or none of 
the prostitutes died ; this made me remember the 
story of the scarlet thread in the harlot's window. 
From this calamitous scene I removed to the 
country, and resided upwards of two years in the 
township of Brandywine, which is forty or forty- 
five miles from Philadelphia. From the oppor- 
tunity I had here of observing the manners of the 
people, I shall endeavour to present the reader 
with a picture of an American country life, though 
I must confess they differ in manners and customs 
in almost every twenty or thirty miles ; which is 
more or less the case in all countries. 

I staid with a farmer, and the first of my work 
was assisting to plant Indian corn, of which I can 
give a minute description, as I was employed in 
its culture till I partook of it in mush, or what we 
call porridge. About the end of April or begin- 
ning of May, is the time of planting it The ground 
is furrowed, ripped, or checqared; tiiat is to say, 
furrows are drawn four feet apart one way, and 
crossed two feet apart the other. In the part 



40 THE LIFE AXD TRAVELS 

where the furrows cross, on the top of a little 
dung, four or five pickles of corn are dropped, and 
sometimes a few beans, which twist round the 
stalk, of which kind shabs and all is eaten when 
green. When the corn is about the size of onions 
full grown, we hoed, or raised a little hill of earth 
about every three or four stalks that had 'sprung 
up. The next operation is, with one horse, muz- 
zled, to plough up the white betwixt the rows, 
from which large hills are hoed round the stalks, 
not only to keep moisture, but to support the 
stalks from falling ; which, although strong to ap- 
pearance, are what we call cashy and tender. 
When full grown the stalks are trom seven to nine 
feet high, when they crop about twafeet from the 
top of them to make the heads harden, of which 
there is three or four on a stalk ; it is seldom that 
more than three come to perfection. With the 
heads thus cropped they feed the sheep in winter. 
When the corn is ripe they break off the heads., 
throw them in heaps, and carry them home in wag- 
gons, when they are laid in a heap for husking. 

As I promised to say something of their frolics^ 
I shall begin with what is termed the 

Husking Frolic* 

The neighbours are warned to meet between 
sun-set and dark, when they sit down upon the 
corn in a circle, with a small piece of heckery* 
shaped like the point of a lance, tied to their wrist, 
to prevent losing it ; with this instrument they rip 
open the point of the husic, and tearing it off with 



OP JOHN GERR0ND. 



41 



their hand, throw it one way and the head ano- 
ther. At the end of every hour the landlord hands 
round the bottle, and every one drinks what he 
pleases. Thus they sit till about two or three in 
the morning, when the husking is finished; from 
this to the house, where an elegant supper is pre- 
pared, in particular two roasted pigs, standing 
whole upon the table. By this time a number of 
young females are met, who drink tea and join 
the men. They then dance till daylight, and if 
disappointed of a fiddler whistle time in succes- 
sion. 

The Raising Frolic. 

The neighbours are warned to come and bring 
with them horses, axes, ropes, and waggons. 
Being met early in the morning, some cut down 
trees in the wood, others cross cut them at proper 
distances ; some lead them to where the house is to 
be built, while the more experienced notch the 
logs at the end to prevent their slipping off each 
other: and although the trees were growing in 
the morning, a house of ten or twelve feet high is 
ready for putting a roof on the same day. 

Female Friendship , a Frolic. 
In carding tow, or rather breaking wool, the 
young girls are requested to attend on a certain 
day and bring cards with them ; this summons 
they seldom fail to attend. This frolic I called the 
land coming to the plough ; since it put it in the 
lass or young laidies power to invite who of the 



42 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

young men she pleases to attend at night, drink 
tea, dance, and convey his sweetheart home. 

The Pennsylvanian Harvest , or Reaping Frolic. 

The reader will be apt to think the description 
of this frolic somewhat extravagant ; but as I was 
a labourer myself, and a witness of the whole, I 
can vouch for its truth. A great number being 
met early in the morning, bread and cheese, cold 
meat, and a dram, is offered for handsel ; they 
then begin to the field that is to be cut down and 
reap to the lands end ; in returning every one 
binds his own sheaves, while one appointed sets up 
the stooks. They then sit down in a circle, where 
one attends them with a bottle of spirits and spring 
water* of which they all partake to their liking ; 
and should they land here twenty times in a-day*. 
this is an ivariable rule. At breakfast they have 
generally coffee, wheaten bread and butter, cold 
meat, cheese, and perhaps a pye. At eleven o^clock 
they get what they call a nonching, which is eggs* 
milk, and rum mixed ; or what we call old menV 
milk, they call it egg nog : to this they eat small 
cakes baked with butter. Next comes a sumptu- 
ous dinner. About four o'clock in the afternoon 
is what they call their allowance ; bread, cold 
meat, and an extra dram. A supper is offered to 
the full such as the breakfast ; but I observed they 
depended more upon a good glass or two before they 
started. As this company is a mixture of both 
sexes, young and old people, if they can procure a 
jiddler they usually have a dance for an hour or two 



OF JOHN GERROND. 43 

This superfluous feasting will appear the more 
reasonable when it is considered they are not hired 
shearers, but friendly neighbours for as good again. 
Should I say that the Americans wanted pride and 
ambition, I would be doing them injustice: nei- 
ther are they careless of self-interest, since whoever 
is a niggard of his victuals and drink, especially ia 
harvest, need not expect to be cheerfully assisted. 

The American rye grows very tall, the meal of 
which is nearly as white as our wheaten flour; their 
barley is likewise very good, but oats never come 
to the perfection they do in Britain ; nor do they 
grind any into meal, but feed their horses with 
them. Potatoes are seldom good. They sow 
wheat after Indian corn, the same as we do after 
potatoes.- Of onions they have but poor crops, ex- 
cept in New England, where they have them very 
good ; yet they must transplant them before they 
can have them to perfection. Cabbages are pretty 
good here ; but their greens of all kinds are next 
to nothing ; pease and beans are good and plenty. 

Fruit of no description grows promiscuously in 
the woods, as some people have asserted, the fruit 
trees being all planted in fenced orchards. Yet I 
was not pestered with reading the sign-board 
threatening steel traps and spring guns ; and, ' if 
any person be found trespassing on these grounds^ 
they will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of 
law.' No m x you may go on like Samson with his 
honey. Horses, cows, sheep, and swine, differ 
little, if any, from those in the old countries, as the 
Americans call them, Their pork is the sweetest 



44 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

and best I ever tasted. The truth is, did one not 
know it was pork, they could scarcely distinguish 
the taste of it from mutton. This is owing to 
their swine being all fed in the \Voods. 

Their domestic fowls differ nothing from those 
in Britain ; I never saw any wild turkies, but was 
told there is plenty in the back woods. Of wild 
pigeons I have seen many thousands in one flock. 
The sahie may be said of blackbirds, which gather 
in flocks on a certain day in the fall of the year 
and set off to some foreign country, as do all those 
birds called sleepers. There is plenty of phea- 
sants, which always haunt the swamps and marshy 
grounds. They have four kinds of snipes. Of the 
woodcock, the same as in Scotland, I never saw 
any. There is two kinds of partridges here, the 
one is about the size of our grouse, the other the 
size of our eorn-eraik; the latter in shape and 
colour much resembles our partridge ; it sits on 
trees and fences. There is one singular thing in 
this bird, which I experienced myself; when you 
can get the covey on an apple, or any bushy tree, 
if you kill one the first shot you may fire on till 
you kill the whole covey, for they seldom fly away 
if one is killed by the first shot. The lark is about 
the size of our blackbird, and sits more on trees 
and fences than on the ground, the male is of a yel- 
low colour ; they do not mount so high, or sing so 
sweetly, as our lark. The crane, heron, and bittern, 
are the same as in Scotland The woodpecker 
drums on the hollow trees with its bill very loud, 
and you may hear them at half a miles distance* 



OF JOHN GERROND. 4S 

There is five or six kinds of them, the largest about 
the size of dur jay-pyot, and flecked like the black 
cock. They have a bird about the size of our 
lark called the mockingbird, a name it well de- 
serves, for it can imitate the note of almost any 
other bird to perfection. There is a bird of nearly 
the same size named the cat-bird, from its screams 
sometimes resembling the cries of puss in distress. 
The tomtit is rather smaller than our wren. The 
crow is about the size of ours, but cries like the 
jackdaw. The crows know the glead to be an 
enemy to their eggs and young, and whenever he 
is discovered, the alarm is given, and numbers of 
them assemble from miles round and thresh the 
poor glead, who sits in the cleft, or thicket, nor 
dares to fly away till they are tired pelting him ; 
he then steals through among the trees, nor rises 
above the level of them till at a distance. The 
whipper-will is the same as the night-crow in Scot- 
land, and lives by catching flies. The sh-tepoek, 
is the ugliest fowl I saw in America ; it is about 
the size of a duck, and haunts rivers and marshes, 
having a large bag below its crop and tail for 
carrying fish. 

As the above mentioned fowls have not been 
mentioned by travellers or geographers, I have 
been induced to mention them here. America 
abounds in black and red foxes, racoons, opposums, 
wild cats, tree and ground squirrels ; of the latter 
I have shot scores. Their hares are of a light 
gray in winter, they are very scarce, but there is 
thousands of rabbits. In time of snow, the rab« 



46 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

bits, when pursued, push their heads into the 
heaps of stones that are gathered off the land, and 
thus become an easy prey to their pursuers. 

Pennsylvaniais very mountainous in many parts, 
but is well watered, and a very healthy country- 
The last year I remained in this province I worked 
at my own business. Charcoal is used by all the 
country smiths in America in place of pit-coal. 
Being once more able to work and tramp, I re- 
turned to Philadelphia, where I rented a fire, 
worked three monts, and collected some debts. 

Since I had been defeated in my endeavours to 
acquire the fortune I had promised myself, I deter- 
mined to have a complete trip through America. 
I put my rigging in order, shouldered my bundle, 
left Philadelphia, and steered my course for New 
York, through the State of New Jersey. In the 
woods through which I passed grow what the 
Americans call huckleberries, gooseberries, straw- 
berries, aud chinkapins. Huckleberries, are like 
what we call blaeberries ; chinkapins, are a kind 
of nut that has a sweet kernel. 

New Jersey is in general a plain level country ; 
Elizabeth town is the capital. The roads through 
America, except betwixt Philadelphia and Lan- 
caster, are very bad ; so bad, that the stage coaches 
are hung on what they call jacks of iron, because 
steel would not stand. I worked two weeks in 
New Brunswick, from which I went to New York, 
where I worked two months, and then set off for 
Boston. In my way I worked ten days at New- 



OF JOHN GERRONB. 4? 

field ; but as I was very earnest to get to Boston, 
take the following account of one of my shifts. 

Though I had but one dollar in money, yet I 
had plenty of good clothes, and dressing myself in 
what I considered my best, I went strutting on 
the deck of Captain Minord's sloop, and asked his 
cabin-boy if the captain was on board ? to which I 
was answered that he was, and he immediately 
came upon deck. I asked him if I could get a 
passage to Boston, and what kind of a cabin he 
had ; he stepped down and shewed me his cabin 
and asked me whether I would take a glass of rum 
brandy, or wine; to impress him still more with 
the idea of my consequence I chose the latter. 
My appearance gave him no room to doubt of his 
being paid, and we sailed the same afternoon. 
We were becalmed in the bay all that night, which 
gave me considerable uneasiness, as I did not want 
to make an agreement for my passage till we were 
fairly at sea. Next day a fresh breeze sprung up, 
which soon carried us out of sight of land. I now 
made my case known to the mate, who advised me 
to speak to the captain, which I did. He took a 
hearty laugh, observed that I was certainly a droll 
Scotsman, and that I should not want plenty. 
There was a Captain Square, his lady, and daugh- 
ter, passengers in the vessel ; who finding me cu- 
rious and intelligent, got much in love with me. 
We were six days on our passage, and I never 
lived so well on land or at sea, as we had plenty 
of the best of provisions and liquors. I was on 
shore about an hour in New Providence. When 



48 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

we arrived at Boston I went ashore and was at 
work in three hours time. I borrowed money and 
paid six dollars for my passage. 

It is but shoal water up to Boston harbour. In 
the bay there is seven or eight little islands, so ta- 
pering and perpendicular that one would suppose 
them artificial. Bunker's Hill is about a mile and 
a half from Boston. It is a low hill, sloping much 
on the one side. There is a monument erected on 
it to the memory of General Warren. Between 
Boston and Cambridge there is a wooden bridge 
nearly a mile in length, with a draw-bridge in the 
middle sufficient to let the largest vessels pass. 
The land round Boston is not so good as about 
Philadelphia and New York. I staid in Boston 
between two and three months, when I quitted it 
for Hartford, in Connecticut. 

Here I must relate an affair which happened to 
me in Boston, which may be a warning to others 
to avoid getting into, hobbles in a strange place* 
In the neighbourhood of Hancock's Wharf, where 
I worked, some young men had appointed a dance, 
and as I was partly invited and partly acquainted, 
I stepped into the room where it was held. One 
of the company informed me, That he did not 
know whether my presence was agreeable to the 
company ; at this I was very angry, and stepping 
out, stripped, and told them I would whip any 
four of them in four hours. I had drank a little, 
but was not'much intoxicated, and I frighted them 
so much that all ran who were in the alley. Next 
day, however, they carried me before Justice 



OF JOHN GERROND. 49 

Greenleaf, two of them swore falsely against me, 
my mittimus was made out, and poor Gerrond was 
sent to jail, where I was confined nine days. One 
thing let me remark, they asked me when going 
to jail what way I thought of getting off. I told 
them I had no doubt of getting off when I was 
tried ; but they wanted money, and suggested to 
me that I should get some of my countrymen to 
advance it for me. But the truth is, had it been 
any thing of a criminal nature, according to the way 
these false Yankys swore it would hav.e cost me my 
life. Though this affair is not in my praise, I have 
related it for the sake of other young travellers. 

I went to Hartford by land, where I stopped 
about two months. Here I set up for myself, and 
to give fortune her due, she put it in my power to 
do well, but I was exasperated at the disappoint- 
ments I had already suffered, and was grown quite 
careless and fickle. Hartford is a new city, and 
stands on the side of a beautiful river. In my opi- 
nion It is the best place in all America to live in, 
for they seem a very friendly people. How this 
State of Connecticut got the name of Yanky I 
cannot tell, but I observed no poor people among 
them at all, and they seemed well pleased at seeing 
their neighbours thrive. Here is the largest and 
bext oxen I ever saw ; the ploughing is performed 
by them, and they sell for from eight to twelve 
pounds sterling. The price of a horse is from ten 
to twenty pounds. 

Hog river runs along the south side of the town, 
which obtained it's name from being always red 

c 



"SO THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

and muddy. Many beautiful ladies here want their 
fore teeth ; I believe it is occasioned by their eat- 
ing too much fruit. Provisions of all kinds are 
plentiful and cheap, and the inhabitants live well. 
Every tradesman lays in a stock of cyder for the 
winter. At a cyder mill here I saw a heap of ap- 
ples of about six hundred bushels. 

In this city there is a quaker meetinghouse, an 
English, and a presbyterian church. The jail, 
which has the court-house on the top of it, is the 
most elegant building in the city. About twenty 
miles from Hartford is a small town called Scot- 
land. Here I saw the slae used, which, as I told 
in my first poems, is drawn by two horses, the 
people sitting before and behind, as in a coach ; it 
is chiefly used for pleasure, and has no wheels, but 
slides on the top of the snow, when there is as 
much as keep it from touching the ground; in 
one of these machines they will drive at the rate 
,of ten miles an hour. 

I left Hartford, and steered once more for Bos- 
ton, and from that to Salem on the Bay of Fundy, 
which is eighteen miles distant. At Salem I ship- 
ped on board a sloop bound for- Capisow, in the 
province of Nova Scotia. Here I stopped a night, 
and the day following departed for Shelburn, a 
distance of twenty miles, through roads the rough- 
est I ever trod. I lost my way, and despaired of 
ever finding it again : at last I arrived at Shelburn, 
where I worked ten days. I then set off for Li- 
verpool, a distance of thirty miles, through the 
woods; in my way I crossed a large river called 



OF JOHN GERROXD, 



51 



Jordan. This day a bear crossed a foot-path be- 
fore me, about a hundred yards distance; it stood 
and eyed me about half a minute, and then trotted 
off. On this journey I came to a place betwixt a 
loch and an arm of the sea, where some people were 
catching the finest eels I ever saw, they had ten or 
twelve carts full of them. Along the shore there is 
plenty of brant, a fowl between the size of a duck 
and a goose, are which said to be very good eating ; 
here is likewise plenty of geese. I saw a great 
many herrings taken in the burns 3 for which they 
used a scoop net. 

I stopped two weeks in Liverpool, w here I was 
again attacked with the same complaint I suffered 
under in Philadelphia. Liverpool is the hand- 
somest town I saw in Nova Scotia. One metho- 
dist meetinghouse is the only place of public wor- 
ship here. I went to hear them, but of all the 
foolish sighing and moaning that I have heard 3 
they were the most disgusting. 

From Liverpool I shipped on board a sloop for 
Halifax, where I staid a few days, and then left it 
for Pictou, where I remained a year. Many dif- 
ferent accounts are given of this rugged, rocky 
place; and, without the least prejudice, I shall 
give mine. 

Pictou harbour is formed by the junction of 
three rivers, at about six miles from the shore of 
the Gulf of St Lawrence. The entrance of the 
bay is about half a mile broad, and it afterwards 
widens to a mile. Along the sides of the bays and 
rivers thexe is some very good land, which pro- 
c2 



OZ THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

duces wheat, barley, oats, rye, Indian corn, and 
very fine potatoes, which they generally plant with 
hoes. Most of the people live on coarse food, po- 
tatoes being the chief dish at a great many tables. 
The rivers abound with fish, particularly salmon, 
trout, and eels. The people are generally clothed 
in a sort of blue cloth, which is dyed in the yarn, 
and fulled, or wauked, in the following manner. A 
number of people sit down in a ring, with their 
feet inwards, the cloth being in the middle, they 
then keep pushing with their feet, and in the course 
of an evening will full it a good deal. 

The Indians in Nova Scotia, of whom I have 
seen about twenty together of men and women, 
are of a middle size, and have long black hair, 
nor are they thick lipped as the blacks. They 
are clad in blue cloth, and live chiefly by hunting 
and snaring wild beasts, and what fruit they can 
find in the woods. They are harmless if let alone, 
but when injured in the least very revengeful. 
They live in wigwams ; which are built by driving 
stakes into the ground in a circle, uniting them at 
the top, and covering them with the bark of birch 
to keep out snow or rain, leaving a small opening 
for the smoke. When finished they resemble the 
head of a corn-stack from the garnwel up. A fire 
is made in the middle of this wigwam, round which 
they lie promiscuously, young and old, man and 
woman. It is death by their law to commit for- 
nication or adultery, the latter being punished 
with the utmost rigour. 

With their knife and tomahawk they can make 



OP JOHN GERR0ND. 53* 

the shape of almost any thing. They are very 
fond of all kinds of toys, the women in particular. 
They are are very dexterous at catcjiing salmon* 
I saw them kill severals with a sharp pointed stick ; 
eels they catch at night on the bays by the light of 
torches made of birch bark. Young children they 
call papous, and their women squaws. They reckon 
only to twelve ; I remember their count to five., 
which is, nen, tabu, seese, asgum, tillimudgen* 
Upon the whole, I considered these Indians to 
enjoy much inward tranquillity to which Chris- 
tians (as we would have ourselves called) are 
strangers. 

Many Scotsmen reside along the rivers and gulfs 
of Pictou, most of whom are from the Highlands, 
I was at the rearing of one of their meetinghouses 
on the western river, and I cannot say I heard 
one rude or profane word among the whole mul- 
titude ; they performed family worship twice 
every day. The ministers names were, Mr Ross* 
on the west river, and Mr Biggar, on the east 
river. I could not but remark the hardiness of 
these people ; for although they came through the 
snow wet-footed you would not hear so much as a 
cough in the whole meeting. The Ministers preach 
in English in the forenoon and Gaelic in the af- 
ternoon, that the Highlanders may enjoy it in their 
own way. 

There is an allowance here, as in Virginia*, 
for the young men and women with respect to 
sweet-hearting, or sparking, as they call it. The 
young man strips all but shirt and trbwsers, the 

o3 



54 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

young woman all to the shift and under petticoat, 
and so go to bed ; but whether she rises as chaste 
as Davie's Shunamite I cannot tell. 

While in this place I worked at smithing, and 
kept a school for the Highlanders. I shall make 
one remark on these people (which certainly re- 
flects honour upon any people) they are extremely 
hospitable, both among themselves and to strang- 
ers. If they chance to be a few miles from home 
and call at a neighbour's house, they eat and sleep 
with as great freedom as if they were at home. 

From Pictou I sailed on board a schooner to 
Halifax, where I commenced grocer and spirit- 
dealer. Halifax stands on the declivity of a hill, 
on the top of which is a fort and guard-house. 
Adjoining the fort there is a signal-post, from 
which signals are made for ten miles round the 
coast, by which they are informed of the approach 
©f all vessels in a short time. There is two bat- 
teries along shore to the westward, and one on 
George's Island. No vessel is allowed to go out 
of the harbour after the evening gun is fired from 
the citadel-hill. 

Though the streets of Halifax are unpaved they 
are not dirty. The parade ground is a beautiful 
square. Prince Edward's troops were the best 
disciplined of any I have seen. The houses are 
generally built of wood and stone.; a few are of 
buck. If the jail is equally bad in the inside as 
its outward appearance indicates, it must be a very 
uncomfortable lodging. There is a presbyterian 
and Dutch meetinghouse, and an English church, 



OF JOHN GERRONB. 53 

here. The town is about a mile and a quarter 
long, and half a mile broad, At the east end of 
the tovvn is what they call the Ordnance, where all 
kinds of mechanics in the service of His Majesty 
are kept; here also is His Majesty's dockyard, and 
barracks that will contain one thousand men. Near 
the citadel stands Prince Edward's Palace, which 
is a very neat building ; here likewise there is 
very good barracks. 

In Halifax, of all the towns I ever entered, is 
the greatest number of public houses ; in Water 
Street, betwixt Long Wharf and King's Dock, 
there were fifty-one places where drink was sold. 
Common rum sold here for 6s. per gallon ; beef 
and mutton from 6d. to 8d. per pound ; butter, 
Is. 6d. per pound; a pair of shoes ten shillings 
and sixpence; a pair of half-boots six dollars. 

On the 2d of March 1799, I shipped myself on 
board the ship Exeter, bound for Liverpool* and 
after a passage of four weeks, came to anchor 
in the Sound of Isla, in the North of Scotland; 
here I landed, and travelled to Dumfries, where I 
arrived on the 10th day of April, exactly seven 
years from the time I left it. One comfort re- 
mained to me, if I had little money I had no old 
debts to pay. 

Before I give an account of my reception and 
proceedings here, to satisfy the reader, I shall re- 
turn to the United States, and make a few general 
observations, taking my text from what I have 
often been asked, ~* What way do they live there, 
ava ? Read then whilst I declare facts. 
c 4> 



56 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

A man who understands farming may purchase 
as much good land in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, 
or New England, for one hundred guineas, as will 
support him and his family genteelly, unincum- 
bered with tolls or taxes. When I left Hartford 
I had sixteen dollars per month, and found in bed, 
board, and washing. Had I engaged for a year I 
could have got fifty pounds Sterling, and found as 
above. When I left Philadelphia, a shoemaker 
had 3s 3d for making bespoke shoes; nevertheless, 
I could buy a pair of shoes in the market-place, 
bound round the top, for 3s. 7d. Bricklayers, 
joiners, or rather house-carpenters, had ten dollars, 
and found themselves. But of all the trades for 
making money in Philadelphia, that of a merchant- 
taylor is the best, and I must confess, he is gene- 
rally the most respected among the fair sex. 

If you are travelling in the season of the fruit in 
America, you may pull what you can eat of all kinds 
without any one challenging you for so doing; yet 
when it is sold in the towns I could observe it was 
as dear to purchase as in any part of Britain. 
Wood is used for fuel through all America, and is 
sold from five to ten dollars per cord; heckery is 
the dearest, and pine the cheapest. A cord of wood 
is measured as follows : two stakes are set upright 
four feet apart? the wood is then cut at four feet in 
length, and laid between the stakes the height of 
four feet. I know of no pitcoal in America, ex- 
cept in the State of Virginia, and Sidney in Nova 
Scotia ; the former is chiefly used by smiths, and 
is sent all over the United States ; it is sold for 



OF JOHN GERROND. 57 - 

3s. currency per bushel, which is Is. 9d. sterling. 
Five pounds of Philadelphia money is three pounds 
sterling ; seven shillings and sixpence is equal to 
a dollar : in New York eight shillings to a dollar ; 
in Boston six ; five in Halifax, and the same as 
sterling in Charlestown in South Carolina. 

In waggons the horses draw in a string, one be- 
fore another; the reason they give for this is, that 
the horses are seldom all in bad ground at one 
time. A former will hardly travel two or three 
miles without taking one of his horses to ride on. 
I never saw any of their horses take fright and 
run off; they are extremely docile, if you but 
throw the bridle over the stake of a fence while 
you stop at any place, I believe the creature, as 
they call them, would half starve before it would 
break the bridle.. When they want to catch their 
horses in the field, they call cop ! cop ! cop ! when 
they will come to them. 

In Philadelphia I saw a two story wooden- 
house, on four wheels, drawn down the middle of 
Fifth Street by 32 horses, four a-breast, every 
man standing by his own pair of horses. 

The first time I saw General Washington, was 
in Spruce Street. They were ploughing up the 
street with an iron bound plough to prepare it for 
paving, and Washington put his hand to the plouglx 
and held it a few steps. He was about five feet 
eleven inches high, rather what one calls a pro- 
portionable, than a well made man ; yet he was 
straight and sprightly. 

On the £ast side of Fifth Street, there is a li- 
c5 



■bs 



THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 



brary left by Dr Benjamin Franklin for the use of 
students and others, with a white marble statue of 
him as large as life. 

Near to this is the African church, with this in- 
scription : 

6 And them thai sat in darkness have seen a great 
c light. 

c Max/ Christians too so use the light thaCs given* 
< As may secure their happiness in heaven ' 

I shall now say something of trees, and so finish 
my account of America. There is five kinds of 
oak, black, white, swamp, pin, and piss oak ; the 
two last kinds are so named from the one being 
covered with thick branches to the very ground, 
standing straight out like pins ; the other, because 
when put on the fire, it pisses or squirts put its sap 
so as to make it dangerous to sit near it. There 
is three kinds of heckery, black, white,_and shell 
bark; the latter bears nuts which have a very sweet 
kernel. There is likewise walnut, beech, birch, 
poplar, plaintree, quaking^ash, black and white 
ash, rowantree, hazle, with several other kinds 
which I never saw in Britain, and which I did not 
know the names of 

When I arrived at Dumfries, as I told you be- 
fore, I found my wife with a character unstained, 
after seven years absence. She received me with 
the greatest cordiality, which was more than could 
have been expected, except from one of her pru- 
dence and sweetness of temper, which is as rare to 
be found among women, as to find among the other 
sex one as giddy and frolicksome as myself/ Hav~ 



OF JOHN GERROND. 



m 



ing a good education, she had commenced mantua- 
maker and milliner in my absence, by which she 
genteelly supported herself andrdaughter. Of her 
parts I shall say no more, but draw you a picture 
of her person in her maiden days, with the verse 
applied to Will's Nancy in the poem of The Peat : 
Moss. 

Nancy was the farmers only, 

Sonsy, graceful sweet and neat, 
Will a strapping chield and comely, 

Fain he'd haen a meeting set, , 

My relations, with some exceptions, received me 
like one coming poor from a foreign country : in> 
deed the rhymer was, by some of them, treated like 
the dreamer, nor should I liked to have been with 
them at Dothan w T hen the Ishmeelites were passing 
by. Truth to tell, could I have been a little more 
humble betimes, in my passage through life my 
misfortunes had been fewer ; to be too obstinate 
in complying with what we ourselves exact from 
others, is by no means to be approved of. On the 
other hand, to be credulous and simple is not to 
be commended, since the pretended friend's advice 
is often given to gratify his pride of foresight of 
gain, and desire of public applause. The surest 
means to procure happiness, is to keep from ex- 
tremes in any point, and take the advice that Sol 
gives to his son Phaeton, to steer a middle course. 

Soon after my return from abroad 1 commenced 
grdcer and selling spirits by retail, in Castle Dou- 
glas ; but an old arch enemy, with some of his 
compeers, soon found means to move me from 

c 6 



60 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

that ; but as some of them are my enemies no 
longer, decency bids me be silent. Disappointed 
of the happiness I had promised myself in my own 
country, I fell into dissipation, and often wished 
I had lived and died in America. 

I again commenced smithing, and did a little in 
the white and jobbing way. But from what I have 
suffered since I came home, 1 consider the heart 
to be the toughest part of the body, since I am 
still alive. I shall now, as I promised, give you 
one of my chief frolics, and one of my dangerous 
adventures. 

About the year 1801, as I passed the Red Lion, 
a small village in the parish of Tongueland, after 
having drank the share of three gills of spirits with 
a gentleman in Mr Roy's (I had been on the fro- 
lic for two or three days before), a return chaise 
passed by, and I ran after it in hopes of getting a 
seat, in which I failed, and the people of the vil- 
lage laughed at the disappointment. Enraged at 
this clownish insolence, and having a gun in my 
hand (though I had no powder or shot,) to fright 
them I went through the attitudes of charging my 
piece, at a little distance ; I then stripped to the 
breeches, stockings, &nd shoes, and in a very hu- 
morous manner threw my clothes over the fence. 
I had told them I would put them from laughing, 
and in a moment doors and windows were shut, 
and old and young disappeared. I then laid down 
the gun in the middle of the street, and challenged 
them to fight me, but no one would encounter me. 
I then entered the house where I had been drink- 



OF JOHN GERROND. 61 

ing, and for fear of what might follow made the 
landlord and the gentleman with whom I had been 
drinking examine the gun, who found only a wad- 
ding of moss at the bottom. The gentleman see- 
ing I was only in fun, promised me half a mutch- 
kin if I would frighten nine or ten mowers and 
rakers at work in a meadow hard by. Without 
more ado I went to work, and putting on a most 
frightful countenance, and using all the extrava- 
gant gestures I was master of, they soon all moved 
off the meadow, and I returned to the public house, 
no doubt in the eyes of ail beholders like a fool. 
By this I have shown the fearful effects of drink ; 
for in my sober moments no money could have 
prevailed on me to behave in this manner. 

Now for tne last of my dangerous adventures ; 
let us take a serious view of wine and women* 
When I returned to New York, being healthy 
and in high spirits, Well, said I to myself, shad I, 
who have seen so many scenes of life, shall I not see 
the rigs of Kenvastown ? Yes, replied dangerous 
curiosity, and away I staiked by myself, fearless and 
unmindful of all the promises and resolutions I had 
made in my late afflictions. Being a sheet in the 
wind, as the sailors express it, I stept into a house 
where there was six or seven young ruddy girls 
passing and repassing An elderly woman stood 
by the fire, to whom I observed, that this was a 
fine place to get a sweetheart: she replied, ' They're 
a' taen up, but come yeVe wa' down the morn's 
night, arf ye"s get yeVe pick and wale o' them P 
« YeVe surely been at the Broomielaw ?' said Ii 



62 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

she held down her head, and, in words scarce arti- 
culate, replied, < Atweel I hae seen't man f while 
the tears ran over her cheeks. 

I went out and met with the mate and cabin- 
boy of a ship; the latter told us he could show us 
all the rigs of Kenvastown, and away we strutted 
together. We made a landing, called for a bottle 
of wine, and drank a glass. I went to the door, 
which, as soon as I was fairly out, was shut upon 
me, while a horse laugh from within let me know 
I was tricked. I knocked at the door and win- 
dows, and threatened, but all in vain ; a light ap- 
peared in the passage, by which I could see two of 
the largest dogs, and fiercest to appearance, of any 

I had ever seen ; a woman d d me she would 

soon make me leave the door, whilst the dogs ad* 
vanced towards it with a hideous noise ; never was 
the joints of poor Gerrond so enfeebled with fear 
as when their Cerberian mouths opened upon me, 
I run for my lodgings without ever looking be- 
hind me, went to bed, and lay and trembled. 

I shall close my reflections on this dangerous 
adventure, with some observations from Solomon, 
who was not only an inspired writer, and judge of 
human frailty, butone who had himself experienced 
the arts and deceit of prostitutes ; he well knew 
their attractions- and pictures them out like the 
Cokelonda loadstone, and the eyes of the basilisk ; 
he well knew it was impossible to tamper with evil 
and not be in danger of falling into mischief, and 
therefore he warns us as follows : « Go noi near the 
door of her house; turn from it and pass away? 



OF JOHN GEE RON D. 63 

The reader will observe, in the foregoing part 
of my history, that I have displayed the follies and 
weaknesses of myself and others, to deter the in- 
experienced from seeking happiness in paths where 
it is not to be found. I shall now take notice of a 
yet more detestable vice, in which, had I been an 
actor, the main basis on which I have stood had 
been for ever shaken. Now, my dear boys and 
girls, for I am addressing every one who can read 
what I am now writing, I hope you will not only 
read, but well consider the command fc Thou 
shalt not steal. ' Of all the wickedness prac- 
tised bv man, nothing that I know of leaves 
such a stigma on the character as taking or car- 
rying off any thing that is not justly your own; it 
is a crime, above all other, that makes us dis- 
dained by all ranks and conditions, shuts on u& 
the door of all friendly society, brands our name 
with infamy, and is an upcast to ourselves and 
children, handed down from generation to genera- 
tion. I must remark to you, that stealing was 
the first crime we are informed of; God punished 
Eve for not being content with what he had given 
her, and for stealing from the interdicted tree, con- 
cerning which he had commanded, < Thou shalt 
not eat of it ; for in the dav that thou eatest 
thereof thou shalt surely die. ' She made an ex- 
cuse indeed, like many others, that the Devil 
tempted her ; but remember, though a merciful 
God mitigated the sentence, mankind are still suf- 
fering for the rash offence. 

When Eve ? secretly as she thought, put forth 



61 THE LIFE AND TRAVELS 

her hand and pulled of the forbidden. tree, she was 
no doubt thinking none saw her offence except the 
creatures around her ; possibly she said to herself, 
This is done in secret, no eye has seen this small 
offence ; and when stung with guilt, I shall never 
steal any more. But the Almighty saw, and, let 
me inform you, he is an eye witness of the least 
sin you commit. Do not therefore take or carry 
away the worth of a pin that is not justly your 
own, for in so doing it might entice you to commit 
more, and bring you to a shameful and ignomi- 
nious death. I finished my last dangerous adven- 
ture with the words of Solomon, I shall close this 
admonition with the advice of the Apostle, ' Ab- 
stain from every appearance of evil. ' 

To save you from regret, remorse, and shame, 
L.et no dishonest deeds e'er stain your name, 
So shall you, like your humble servant yet, 
Walk feariess on the key -stone of the street, 
Obey your parents with all reverence due, 
And well consider what they've done for you ; 
Long life is promised if you them obey, 
We're told the wicked lives not half his day. 
Since one day out of seven God hath set 
For rest, keep t well, be sure do not neglect, 
My son, on thine own strength do not depend^ 
Seek God for your strong tow r and only friend, 
*Tis only he your en'mies can subdue, 
And when about to bid the world adieu, 
Can sooth each pain distorts the human breast, 
And take your soul to everlasting rest, 
To sing his praise among the truly blest. 

Now, my dear friends, I have endeavoured to 
show you the vanity of seeking substantial enjoy* 



OF JOHN GERROND. 65 

inent in wide excursions or rambling frolics ; for 
I may truly say, ' The eye is never filled with 
seeing, nor the ear with hearing.' The wag may 
tantalize your ignorance, the man of pleasure may 
advance what he pleases, the spendthrift may call 
you niggardly, and the besotted and voluptuous 
may censure you, but let me inform you, and be 
assured of its truth, that if there is such a thing 
as permanent happiness to be found here at all* it 
must be with prudence, virtue, temperance, and 
sobriety. 

For godsake, sirs, beware o' drink, 
Though our spirits whiles it lifts a link, 
Yet down ten times as far they sink, 

And muckle mair. 
And leads us on to misery's brink, 

Bordering despair. 

I shall conclude my prose narrative with the 
words of the inspired penman, by experience I 
have found, « That wisdom excelleth follv as far 
as light excelleth darkness.' 



PREFACE 

TO THE POEMS, 



Whereas no Author as yet has pleased 
every individual, and so few given general sa* 
tisfaction, I present the following sheets to the 
public without the least hesitation. An excuse 
for want of education is become such a cuckoo 
story, that it would surely be wasting both of 
pap^r and time to mention it. And as to the 
hacknied phrases, I beg leave, and I Jlatter 
myself, they are nearly eatings with Dumbar- 
ton Rock, or the Craig of Ailsa. I would 
undergo the mortification of missing one shot 
in five, in the course of a whole day, to have 
them out of fashion. It was the flattery of the 
learned that induced me to talk with Pointers. 
I am by no means afraid of the Criric 9 how- 
ever so roughly he may censure my works^ 
if he is one that can with as much real 
ment relish their beauties. I am a great lover 



68 PREFACE. 

of youth ; and therefore have endeavoured to 
lay before them some of the most dangerous 
practices into which both sexes have fallen, to 
their utter ruin. Nor can I persuade myself 
that I have published one sentiment disgusting 
to the chastest ear ; excepting of such false 
modesty as pretends to leave the room in a 
huffi but returns unseen, laying her or his 
ear to the keyhole. In the bosoms of such as 
these may be generally found Aristotle or 
Culpepper ! 




« TZBuTTtetf .jJ ?Z T 



Circling round tJiqjT, owing* co#*ie , 
Flat upo' 'their do up they sit; 

J\^e er was /cine* on throne so vogze , 
As young* Wvll &t JVancyfr hip, 

See jPeatmars . 



POEMS. 



THE 

PEA T-M OSS. 

Some delight to sing t)f battle, 
Some victorious, some of loss ; 

But whoever owre a bottle 

Sung the scenes of a peat-moss ? 

White the hawthorn's bud and blossom* 
Gowans glent on ilka knowe, 

Cat-tails bloom, poor folks repose on, 
Spring upo' the mossy flow. 

Soaring snipes fly round, ^and singings 

Others cozie in their nest, 
White the water lily springing, 

Set on Jenny's glowing breast. 

"Twas that season when bright Phoebus 
Higher climbs the vaulted lift, 

Frae the peat-moss we provided us 
Ingles for a winter night. 

Samuel, Jeanie, Rab, and Tibby, 
Warned to come 1 gin Tiseday next, 

Days before the brow is red ay, 

Barrows sought, and a' things fixed, 



70 POEM?. 

Milk bespoke for, sowens are shared, 
Gray beards corked fiT o' ale, 

Hams raugh'd down wi' soot besmeared, 
Graced the lum since last April. 

Handsel got, now spades and shovels, 
Coals to light the lunting pipe, 

Lassies at the expected tuffles, 
Smiling chearfu* a** the gate. 

Stationed now wf morning vigour, 
Mildly spake the auld gudeman, 

* Lassies, lay a wee thing wider, 
Be as busy as ye can. 1 * 

Some bare legged, some wear hosens, 
Some in clogs, and some in shoon ; 

WhilesFve seen unfreely boshens, 
Cat and tire lang or "'twas noon. 

The lang looked for nap and servit, 
White upo' the head is seen ; 

Jean, because she first observed it, 
Praised for her twa bonny een. 

Circling round the flowing cogie, 
Flat upo" their doup they sit, 

Ne'er was king on throne sae vogie, n 
As young Will at Nancy's hip. 

Think na ye in parlour's sitting, 
Snug upo' your cushioned chair, 

Rustics here nae sweets are sipping 
Touch the heart, yours does nae mair. 



FCEMS. Tl 

Young and auld keep up the clatter, 

Scarcely need I tell what sex ; 
Characters here torn in tatter, 

Some throw clods, some flit the pricks. 

Steady and slow now auld mamma comes, 

Stoup and broth upo' her head ; 
Blessing lang now auld papa hums, 

Whilst uncovered is ilk head. 

Dinner owre, Rah aff three peats now, 
Swore by jing he'd beat them a\ 

Jamie, wha ne'er sic tricks knew, 
Plump fell in owre lugs and a\ 

Now domestic cares are cuttled, 
Tamas asked if he thought right, 

Drams a-piece to make them mettled, 
A" 5 the grund lay up that night. 

Girzie's move was strongly backet ; 

Tamas liked a drap himsel ; 
£ Troths quoth he, ' they hae na slacket, 

Faith, they hae done wond'rous weeV 

By the herd, swith comes the whisky, 

Wit is wakened, sinews braced, 
Lads and lasses smiling frisky, 

Soon^s the wee drap blue they taste- 

DangVous this fomenting potion ! 

Willy's looks lascivious grown, 
Eyes her legs, and forms the notion, 

Nance to w r atch as she gangs hame, 



72 POEMS. 

Modest looks, and modest gesture, 
Soon disarmed Will's thoughts o' ill, 

Cupid shot his dart ay faster, 
Led him captive at his will. 

Nancy was the farmer's only, 
Sonsy, graceful sweet and neat ; 

Will, a strapping chield and comely, 
Fain he'd haen a meeting set. 

Ringlets o' the jet black waved, 
Clustering down her slender waist, 

The more Will gazed the more he's pleased- 
Chaste desire now fills his breast. 

Nancy's character unspotted, 

Pure's the snow on Alpine hill, 
Scores her company had courted, 

Nane e'er gained consent but Will. 

"^Mangst braw lasses Will had pleased hirfo, 
Toy'd and kissed wi' mony a score, - 

But this e'ening something teased him. 
Yet unkend or felt before. 

Will for ance grew love-sick stupid, 
Gazing on this charming maid, 

Loud the laugh was when they looked. 
Saw him cast wi' flaughter spade. 

To himsel he thus complained, 
6 Is this love, or what diel is't ? 

Ay, 'tis it, what else has pained 
A' this afternoon my breast.' 



POEMS. 

Sam wad fain hae pried Jean Glover, 
On a gall bush laid her head, * 

Tib to help the bashful lover. 
Haps them wF the herdy's plaid. 

Sam ay worries, Jean ay spartles 

Angry words though pleased at heart. 

Jeanny's breath nor rose nor myrtles, 
Sweeter perfume e'er impart. 

In the western hemisphere Phoebus 
Sunk beneath yon distant hill, 

Mild and calm the evening cool is, 
Each sets hame with right good will. 

Barrows washed, and hands and feet now, 
White's the fog that scours them clean. 

That's the way we get our peats now, 
Makes our fire-sides 'snug and bien. 

Kathrine's husband this time tovvrnond, 
Arm'd owre ditch, and hand at stile, 

Now his love 's cauld as Ben Lomond, 
Nor ever thinks it worth his while. 

Lads that ance wad stopt and cracket, 
WF their arms "bout Kitty's neck, 

Since wi' Jame and weans she's yoket, 
Strut a' by wi' disrespect. 

Willy's working thoughts were busy, 
Cautious now what best to say, 

Not as wont careless and easy 
Whether answered aye or nay£ 

D 



74 POEMS. 

Anxious now as some attorney 
Pleads aftfre the fifteen lords, 

In's mind was baith rose and thorny, 
Ticked and waled were a" his words. 

Not more anxious stands the better, 
And fearful eyes the winning post; 

Will's case was a serious matter, 
If Nance denies he counts him lost. 

Thousand thoughts in's mind revolving, 
How to act, or what to say, 

From a scene at length resolving, 
Paved for words an easy way. 

'Mangst the heather stood a knowie 
Tapered bonny, green, and smooth. 

On which stood twa lambs and ewy, 
Here Will first proposed his love. 

6 See these bonny lambs,'' quoth Nancy, 
Lead a harmless, happy life, ? 

c Sae might we, 1 quoth Will, € my fancy, 
Gif that we were man and wife. ? 

At these words, Nance, artless, blushes, 
With more lustre shone her charms, 

Will now ventured on twa kisses, 
Locked her in his wistfu' arms. 

Nor had Homer's pen the power, 
Nor could Le Brim's pencil draw, 

The joys how exquisite, the hour, 
Passed that e^nan 'tween them twa, 



P0EM3. T5 

Night now drew her sable curtain, 
Beast and bird were mute and still, 

Lambs on knows had quit their sporting. 
Thus began sweet Nance to Will. 

* For this night Will, let lis; part now, 

Darkness on the landscape's gane/ > 
Willy sighed, < Ye hae my heart now, 
Time let's set to meet again,"* 

< For to meet a rambling billy, 

Courts wP a' but sticks to nane, 
Thinkna, Sir, I'm just sae silly, 

As to mett you a' my lane. 

* Meet ae night, next to anither. 

Laugh and jest at a 1 I say ; 
General lovers meet together, 
I am not to be treat that way."' 

A' this chat only to try him, 

Will to meet proposed the barn. 
Nance, kind soul, could not deny him. 

Folks in love they dread nae harm. 

Will craved something for to look at 

When in absence of his love, 
Fand a mill, and out he took it. 

Whereon sat a turtle dove. 

* Thai's tfie bird, says Will, < my deary. 

Poets tell when lost it's mate, 
Spends a life cheerless and dreary, 
Till death remains in widowed state/ 



76 POEMS. 

Kissed and parted for this ae night, 

Twa nights hence they meet i 1 the barn; 

Fu* o' love, they thought them baith right, 
Virgin proof now dreads no harm. 

Stiles, and foot brigs o^er the ditches, 
Dikes five quarters owre he sprang, 

Diels or spunkies, ghaists or witches, 
Fearless of the fairy gang. 

Will that night could faced Auld Clooty, 
Think what boldness love inspires, 

After marriage what a pity, 

Cloys so soon our youthfiT fires. 

Sourness, discontent, and fretting, 
Metamorphosed, alas ! how soon ; 

Sorrows fresh now daily meeting, 
Fruitless wish, there's no return. 

Will, impatient of the meeting, 
Trig by sun down he was drest, 

Supple o^er the muir gaed skipping, 
Pleasing thoughts his mind possessed ; 

Hopes of bliss the mind employed, 
The present oft a heaven more sure, 

Than fondest wishes when enjoyed, 
Once possessed enjoyed no more. 

Luna^s up and brightly shinning, 
By whose light Will could discern, 

Saugh trees circling the duelling 
Round the stack yard and the barn, 



POEMS. i i 

Willy fand the half door open. 

Drew the bar and jumped in, 
L — d, thought Will a glorious token, 

Nance will sure be here at ten. 

'Alangst loose sheaves Will made a bed there^ 
Where his Nance and him should rest, 

And let none think a snare was laid here 
For aught immodest or unchaste. 

Nance arrived, guess Will's condition, 

Threw his arms about her neck, 
Nance yielded with coy submission 

Surest way to gain respect. 

Elysium if e'er we enter, 

Here on earth while mortals breathe^ 
To say what 'tis I'll freely venture, 

A state like Will's amang the sheaves> 

If e'er the soul of man is touched 

Here with true celestial fire, 
'Tis when in beauty's arms he's couched^ 

Modest thought and chaste desire, 

Ye wha tak the tither side o't, 

Dish it out in prose or rhyme, 
Far be't frae me .that I deride it, 

Unalt'rably ye've gotton mine, 



78 



POEMS* 



ADVICE TO BONAPARTE. 



! for some new and jarring measure, 
This night I hae a wee whiles leisure, 
Td want sleep twa three nights together 

To tell French Bon, 
Auld Britain swears her rights and treasure 
She'll gie to none* 

Shall Caledonia's sons and daughters, 
Be ravished o" their golden laughters, 
By a hell-hound wha threats great slaughters. 

And skeJp our doups ? 
Na, faith ! my boys, my heart now floughters^ 

We've better hopes* 

1 swear now, by my tartan jacket. 
And ilka stripe upo' the back o't, 

He comes, he'll meet wi' sick a racket, 

He'll wish for hame.^ 

The weans unborn they sha'n't crack o't, 
But to his shame. 

Our British fair whase skin's like snaw^ 
To your dun hides a prey sha'n't fa, 
And ay keep mind our ane for twa 

Can gie a drubbings 
Then cowardly, sneaking, rin awa, 

Wi' hearts a' throbbing^ 

My shooting iron three feet and awa,, 
A snell shot blasty as e'er I saw, 



POEMS. '?S 

\ IK ] L — d gif I the trigger draw, 

I'll be his dead, 
Goliah like, doubtless, he'll fa\ 

Wr ball iii's head. 

Set not up for an Alexander, 

Across our country yoit shaVt wander, 

A red hot, boiling salamander, 

Wr vengeance driven. 
Shall dash your cruel brains asunder, 

Direct by heaven. 

Yell soon wish hame, eating a ragout, 

Or snoring drunk with some French faggot^- 

Although your meat should be a maggot, 

Or some sour dromock*. 
Well send ye hame nae mair to brag o't, 

Lame o'er a cummocL 

Ev*n Nick, your ain head engineer, 
Though saft he whispers in your ear, 
Hell some day stop your wild career, 

- He kens fV well, 
There's nane sae douce can fill the chair 
Till yeVe in hell 

Just stay at hame, poor tyrant Bony, 
Tak this advice frae poet Johnny, 
First Consul best for Pandemony, 

In wild distraction^. 
Tortured by Cloots your dearest crony, 

For each vile action^ 

b 4 



SO POEMS. 

DUMFRIES ROOD FAIR. 

A POEM. 

When plums fa' aff potatoe sbaws, 
An' outlars rout about the wa^s, 
Gathering up the straggled straws 

Frae aff the gutter^ 
Now and then from turses fa's, 

When Jolly stutters. 

The woodcock now comes o'er the seas. 

To get a soak at our well-ees ; 

His wings, perhaps, five minutes ease 

Have scarcely got 3 
Dogs point him up, the sportsman sees, 

And makes him drop, 

Nor are the feathered tribes alane, 
Such is the fate of hapless man, 
He pushes on in quest of gain, 

But, 'las-anee ! 
Nor more he hails his native hame, 

Nor cross the sea. 

The crap is in, baith corn and bear, 
The hook is thrown to ken niest year, 
Where ilk, if then alive, will shear, 

Whilst some will tell. 
If t be the L — d's will, I'll come here, 

For sake o' Nell, 



POEMS. St 

Twas in that season folks prepare, 
To stan' the rigs of the Rood Fair, 
Some hearts are fain, ithers are sair, 

Ye scarce need doubt it ;; ' 
But listen now, and I some mair, 

Shall tell about it. 

Master and Mistress'' hearts to gain, 
By lad and lass great care is taen, 
Tom he applies the curry-kaim, 

Whilst Jean the kye^ 
With straw., saft on the sittle-stane, 

Macks brock to lie* 

The barnman's up now by day light, 

And berries on till ten at night, 

Offers his help the corn to dight, , 

Or big a slap, 
An' sae as a' things may gang right, 

He theeks a stack* 

The cook now, kettles, pots, and pans, 
She scours them up with ready hands, 
Miss Bett's and Madam's strict commands^ 

. Are done w? care, 
That she may see Rab at the sands, 

An* 5 stan' the fair, 

The herd^s twa girsga'd taes are mend, 
With which three weeks he poorly fend, 
The stane erase brak, a ditch he stend, 

Foul hate 's now sair^ 

d5 



S3 POEMS* 

Amang the rest, if truth was kend, 

He wants t' Fair. 

The covered cart 's put in repair, 

To tak Miss Jean and Betts to Fair, 

Miss Runcles swears Mamma's brown mare 

That day she'll ride ; 
The twa auld folks in the blue chair, 

In pomp and pride. - 

Miss Runcles from the age fifteen, 
At fairs, and balls, and race had been, 
Her beak now lang, sunk are her een, 

Cheeks unco spare, 
To hear, nae doubt, some will be keen, 

This auld maid's prayY, 

But I might tell before I pray, 

At least what I heard some folks say, 

Sour milk an' tansy 'gainst that day, 

Are mixed in store. 
To gloss those cheeks with age grown grey* 

An' temper sour. 



The OLD MAID'S PRAYER. 

Sax weeks had passed, and rather roair- 
Since Fanny she had prayed* 

Her cousin Charlotte had been there* 
And partnered her in bed, 



FOE MS. StP 

Now Charlotte's gone, she bolts the dooiy 

Her sheers aboon the sneck. 
And said, ' O L — d forgive thy poorr 

Wretched creature's neglect. 

Confess to Thee I will, this night. 

Each sin I thought or did, 
Since darkness is to Thee as light, 

Nought can from Thee be hid. 

I own that pride Iras proved my bane,- 
Which Cloots threw out of heav'n, 

Treated his worth with high disdain, 
"Would me his right hand given, 

To clothe this frail corporeal frame, 

Parents take care we find, 
Yet "'twould be better were there ane. 

To cultivate the mind. 

For ah ! the intellectual powVs 

Of many a bonny lass, 
Are not adequate to the glowrs. 

They make afore the glass. 

No more my sanguine blooming look. 

Can captivate the swain, 
But with my younger sisters hook ; 

And hate me with disdain. 

As hornets from the leafy bike, 

Pursue with mortal sting, 
My sins and them are much alike^ 

When conscience rouzed within* 
d6 



84 POEMS. 

Direly I rue the usage rude, 

I gave the wandering poor; 
Myself I even thought too good, 

To hand them from the door. 

Twa things, O L — d, I fear and dread, 

In jail they'll lay me dead-; 
But what's full often in my head, 

That I die an old maid. 

! that I could but now call back, 
The days ill spent and gone, 

But rueful thoughts my heart will break, 
Since I must lie alone. 

The kitchen rangers touzles get, 
My sisters Jean and Annie ; 

1 do confess it makes me fret, 
When nane plays pook at Fanny* 

So hence, I may complain with Job> 

My folly now I see ; 
Wearisome nights in this abode, 

Appointed are for rpe. 

Like Jacob, I determined am, 

To wrestle out this night ; 
No, no, I winna let thee gang, 

Until thou make me right. 

I mean, O L — d, be kind -to me, 

As thou to Isaac was ; 
And then the restless nights I dree 

Away will sweetly pass.' 



POEMS." 85 

Thus prayed she from heart sincere, 

Her case before him laid ; 
6 Think on me, L — d ;' she said nae mair, 

So tumbled into bed. 

The ROOD FAIR CONTINUED. 

With ruddy streaks the eastern sky, 

Bright Phoebus now adorns ; 
Each lad and lass their oddings by, 

Ready to start that morn, 
O glorious health, the fairest flowY, 

That is or e'er will be ; 
Those of most fortitude look sour, 

When ^lang they Ve wanting thee : 

Scarce e'er content, 

Can gold brought from rich Mexico, 

Be e'er compared to health ; 
Or pearls digged from this earth below. 

Not all the miser's wealth 
For proof the rustics here this day, 

I mean baith lads and lasses, 
Mair cheerful look, than them more gay. 

In coach and horseback passes. 

Blytbe, blythe are they, 

Here Jockies fetch great droves of horse, 

An' pepper up the tail ; 
To buy, some bring a weighty purse, 

While others want to sell. 
A wedge between the shoe and sole, 

Maks baith feet alike crooked -, 



86 POEMS, 

Below the chops a glander roll, 
But Rab kens nought about it, 

N • Till hame next day. 

The places where the lasses stap, 

'Twad be nae sin to tell, 
At Mossop, and close at the back 

Of the Corbelly hill, 
On t'other side, at the Nunholm, 

And Tinwald Downs lang planting. 
Where they that's tired lying alone, 

Got just what they were wanting, 

Unkend that night 

The sturdy lass wha's health allows 

Comes barefoot to these places, 
And there puts on her Sunday's shoes. 

To stan' the fair aud races. 
*Tis ten — I'll gang alang the brig. 

Close observations taking ; 
Here some on ithers siller swig, 

Ithers are interest making 

For names on bills. 

Because I hae forgot his name, 
I'll call him simple Saunders, 
That ony neighbour's bill will sign 

Prompt with drink and sly jawners, 
^This wag to bring the thing about, 

Lends his best horse to Nancy ; 
An' tells her Papa, to the boot, 
She's ilka gentleman's fancy 

Has seen her yet* 



POEMS. 87 

Then down the sands he takes the left. 

Tarn's heart is beating finely, 
He cocks his snout up to the lift, 

And St — g receires him kindly. 
Five hundred pounds he counts him o'er, 

Then aff to Tinwald Downs ; 
Poor Saunders hears of him no more 

Till beagles drive their poons, 

AfFs ground some day, 

Here landlords, drunk afore mid-day, 

On ither people's liquor ! 
The Bard, he brawly kens their way, 

They come in wF a bicker, 
Shake hands, sit down, take up a glass, 

Say, ' Gentlemen, I thank ye,' 
The kitchen best suits such an a — , 

The bell rings when we want ye, 

Stay back till then, 

Hostesses with a surly look, 

Are at the landlords brawling ; 
Among the rooms the waiters shout, 

'.Gentlemen, were ye calling.'' 
Good chiels, wha hae but aughteen pence, 

Ava to stand the fair, 
Tak this sly crave a high offence, 

Arf swear they'll gang nae mair 

To sic a house. 



Just opposite to the plainstanes 
Stands mony a country Jenny, 



68 POEMS. 

With baskets, eggs, ducks, cocks, and hens, 

Sell for the ready penny. 
There markets made^ then up the street 

To meet their sweethearts canty ; 
They tat a smack whenever they meet,. 

Wi' drink they're grown s.ae ranty, 
Ere twa o'clock. 

To a shoemaker's stand theft goes 

Old Gilbert in a passion, 
Declares he'lL buy nae mair sharp toes,. 

But follow the old fashion. 
The starkest over-leathers then,, 

Amang them a r he'll pick, 
Syne thumbs them, finds them stiff, he's fain> 

But dreads the girdle fit, 

Atween the soles* 

In hardware shops, some plague folks life* 

A prigging, tiresome cattle, 
Men o'er a knife, some new made wife 

O'er bane-kame f doll and rattle ; 
Says, be canny as ye can, 

,Ye ken I ay come here ; 
Is it worth while to t^ll the man, 

Of saxpence in a year ? 

Refrain sic wark. 

Now, if a lass fyit wants a gown, 
It costs her three hours tramping ; 

She keeks thro' a' the shops in town, 
Can scarce tell what she's wanting*' 



POEMS. 89 

The gentry sort, as bad, I trow, 

I cannot be]p b <e mention, 
With words sublime, more than enow, 

And want merchants' attention 

Ay paid to them. 

By this, on comes a brattling shower, 

The Change-folks praise their Maker ; 
.When each room's crowded to the door, 

Then what a fuss and caper. 
While some were busy with their mouth, 

My eyes they were na lazy ; 
I well observed , to tell the truth, 

How ilka chiel and hizzy 

Behaved that day. 

I vow, they pleased me unca weel, 

In faith you may believe me, 
For die! a w^j d was o' dear meal, 

'Bout whic folks aften grieve me. 
The hinge oil winch a' their discourse 

Unto youth's side was turning) 
Such as befiel at the race course, 

Or what time o' th^ morning 

They came away. 

Some tak to rum, some tak to gin, 

At last to votes we pat it, 
Of the latter got a mutchkin in, 

Syne filled up, and got at it. 
The lady kind, in tumblers mixt 

It up, by way of cheerer ; 



90 roRMf. 

By this we're a' got barley fixt, 
Each wig-block soon got clearer 

For crack, that day. 

A haflins gentle lass I saw, 

Sat down aside a wright, 
That in the morning ran awa, 

O' him made unco light. 
He made a motion for a kiss, 

She veered, but soon returned back,. 
In coming round, he did na miss 

To get a loving smack, 

And kind she was* 

Now Geordy pat about his han', 

To grape for Nelly's mill ; 
Directly Nell began to ban, 

Pretends to tak it ill. 
Quoth she, 6 If it were but my ain, 

I wadna care a pin i 1 
By this Nell wants to let him ken 

She had mae lads than him, 

Though Vsell she bought .it* 

I took farewell, and went to street, 

Looking for more diversion, 
Met hundreds of the home-hound fleet* 

had made the last excursion. 
Untreated, ah ! they took it ill, 

Their lip was out of order ; 
Others had taken sic a fill, 

Their eyes were frae the border, 

Wr drink that day. 



POEMS. 01 

Miss R uncles' pray'r the night before. 

To heav'n had ascended, 
The chiel in youth she lighted sore, 

This day her cares had ended. 
Glad were the -auld folks, O ! how glad, 

To get her aff their han' ; 
Plagued sae with this fiking auld maid, 

Sae crabbed grown and thrawn, 

For want of beaux, 

Now ilka countra man went hame, 

Studied his int'rest right ; 
Whilst some lay snoring like a swine, 

Some ranted out the night. 
Poor Clyps that had nae bit to spen*. 

And niggards of their cash, 
The fient a bed that night for them, 
- Kitchen rangers ne'er fash 

To clean their boots* 

The town's chaps smirking ^ the while, 

But now, my lads, prepare ye, 
Baith Rab and Tibby now shall smile, 

For trouth I winna spare ye. 
Full harmless has been a' their mirth, 

In this their countra station ; 
Perhaps you'll now gang down the firth, 

Mair to your condemnation, 

Ere the week be done, 



-And when night 



Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons 
Of Belial flown with insolence and wine. 

Milton, 



92 pop ms. 

Some simple eountra lasses wait 

And now it's turned the gloaming; 
But mark her sad unhappy fate, 

T* e bluicPs begun a roaming. 
Meg walks with what the sailors call 

Weather rowls, and lee lurches ; 
With tears, perhaps, ere it strike twal, 

Has wet twa good nankerchun 

Out through that night 

With honied words he met her sly, 

In some desolate corner; 
My darling, sweet, perhaps, he'll cry, 

He soon deludes the former 
Meg, being tipsy, soon complies, 

AfF ro * he deck hr taks her ; 
Perhaps moie than him with her lies, 

A bonny deary maks her, 

Rood night indeed. 

The night owls now begin to screech, 

About the lanes and hedges ; 
Or where, on planks, the sawer s stretch 

TLeir lines, and ca" their wedges, 
Even decent men, that past them walk, 

Will, with the wise man, say, 
Deluded by their flattVing talk, 

That night and led astray 

To ruin fast. 

This night the trades lads kick the cork, 
To stand next day's parading, 



POEMS. 93 

Some's een., in truth, wad need a fork, 

By too late masquerading. 
Yet, neatly clean, they swagger through, 

Kind-hearted clever fellows ; 
But foremost walk the lads, I trow, 

I mean those blow the bellows, 

Ev'n Vulcan's sons. 

A host, with bare pash, taks the street, 

Admires their dress and flags ; 
Whispers the box, he has what suits 

Sic merry, chearfu' lads. 
They turn in blythe as ony bride, 

Each room rings with their tauking ; 
The colours now are laid aside, 

So this concludes the wauking 

On that braw day. 

But now there's little time to spare, 

Each lad and lass maun fix, 
Blind Tarn climbs the mid steeple stair, 

The bell bas sworn 'tis six. 
Now trunk and chest lids open thrown. 

To look for the best dresses, 
The white gown, till that night unshown, N 

With perfumed lovely tresses, 

And carriage sweet. 

The lads hae changed their wauking dress^ 
.' For skifting pumps that glisten, 
Music so sweet r I must confess, 
Made every body listen. 



94 



POEMS. 



Namely, a chap I after found 

Could brawly work a mill ; 
I vow his lugs they were sae sound 

'Twad pleased Sharp himsel, 

Sae just that night. 

At the corner sit some chosen nabs, 

Good punch are busy making, 
Some known at hornpipes to be dabs, - 

Their nimble feet are shaking. 
Up started twa angelic forms, 

A minuet they walked, 
Chaps dinted sae wi' female charms, 

The floor scarce ever slacket 

Till morning light. 

The night went on with social glee, 

From high to lowest station ; 
It pleased my rhyming head to see 

Their happy situation. 
Nor had they too deep swigged the bowl, 

But. what heightened their blisses, 
And now determined every soul 

To hae twa round of kisses 

Before they part. 

Up jumped a sprightly, lively lad, 

Well finished at the paster ; * 
And niony an airy wheel he had, 

E'er he the napkin cast her. 
At last Jean's sweet potatoe-trap, f 

He stooped down and tasted ; 

f The ancle. f The mouth. 



POEMS. $5 

Jean liked sae well the glowing smack, 
Fast up with him she hasted 

To dance the Cod, 

The married fowk now, of baith sex, 

They looked a wee thing sour, 
Whene'er a younker near them steps, 

To han' them to the floor. 
If Fm allowed to guess their mind, 

Some rued that they were haltered ; 
Called to remembrance some droll sign 

That said, ' The case was altered ;' 

True, true, indeed. 

Then out I came, and met a man, 

Deserved pity and laughter, 
''Twas he, the night before that ran 

Unthoughtful to the slaughter. 
Consider youth and be aware, 

Ye tippling sons of Bacchus ; 
Misused wine seldom, on the bar 

Of tortures, fails to wreck us 

By night or day. 

Meg^s mither, at the shepherd's trot, 

Alang the brig came jumping, 
Mutters, < If Fd the limmer got, 

She's get a bluidy thumping.' 
Meg, draggled as a hunted hare, 

Tumbled among the gutters, 
Was coming down an outside stair, 

Then up auld Grizy stutters, 

And thus began £ 



96 POEMS. 

c Is this the way, ye idle jade, 

That ye reward vour mither, 
And pinched days that your father had, 

To keep his weans thegither. 
Last year your billy played the loun, 

'Bout which we meikle sorrowed ; 
And now, I fear, ere nine month *s gane, 

I'll wish me dead and buried 

Through last night's wark. 

There 's one thing more, I must observe, 

'Bout which men's much to blame ; * * 
They're neither cankered nor reserved, 

Until that they came hame. 
G — d help the poor thing that 's a wife, 

To such a glumph as this is ; 
He keeps her in perpetual strife, 

But small can be her blisses, 

When that 's the case. 

Nor is the cause unknown to me, 

For with a tongue that 's bitter, 
Scolds before his' whole family, 

'Bout some poor silly matter. 
So here is fire and fuel met, 

The flame still growing hotter, 
'Twad be mair prudent for to let 

Him be, till time more proper, 

When passion's o'er* 

The barnman, though advanced in years. 
There's nane came hame mair canty, r 



POEMS. 169 

Who knows we like that spring, c O'er Boggy ^ 

'Tis now we can get it in spite. 
Then down sails, and come to an anchor., 

Your moorings make fast to each side ; 
What care we for dad or mam's canker, 

When once we're a bold sodger's bride. 

Scots phrase says, < There's Jocks for ilk Jenny,** 

And Jennies there are for each Jock ; 
Says Girzy, * then diel a ae penny. 

Will I pay for a broken pot, 
Nor tumblers, nor cruets, nor glasses, 

Nor ought gentle dame's can exact ; 
A sodger's life far sweeter passes, 

Than serve such a haughty proud pack.' 

Then Tibbs pulled out her pouch-bible, 

To prove it by Solomon's text, 
And swore by a Seventy -Four's cable, 

She had been the oftenest vext 
My mistress, half sprung from the dunghill, 

Keeps all her domestics in strife, 
But let that come and go as it will, 

When once we're a bold sodger's wife, 



A SONG, 

OCCASIONED BY PRINCE EDWARd's LEAVING HALIFAX* 

Tune — Poor silly miser doats on his riches, 

Ye powers above I implore your protection 
To Royal Prince Edward, that hero so bold; 

H 



170 



POEMS, 



So far lie has gained our sincere affection, 
We wish that his praise were engraved in gold. 

The air is unjointed with sad acclamations, 
Lame'nting With thoughts of his going away, 
Whose person and parts are an honour to nations. 
And o'er the French rebels he will gain the day. 

What lofty nice buildings, and fine regulations, 
In Halifax town he has caused to be done. 
His name is most dear unto men of all stations, 
Let's sing of the heroic deeds he has done. 

Strong bulwarks around us he made to defend us, 
Against the invasions of bloodshed and war ; 
May heaven protect him in middle of dangers, 
And land him quite safe on the English shore. 

Then with kind receptions and illuminations, 
And loud acclamations the city will sound, 
With loving embraces, and friendly caresses, 
And jingling of glasses, the day will be crowned. 

On board of the Topaze he ventures his person. 
Commanded by brave Captain Church, as we hear, 
Whose valour and conduct are still a rehearsing, 
When sailors drink bumperstheir hearts tor tocheer. 

First- Lieutenant Cochran, that courageous seaman, 
And heroic Dillon, their praise shall be sung, 
Who boldly do venture to make us all freemen, 
A terror to Frenchmen w 7 herever they come. 

Success to all sailors who are of the Topaze, 
With prizes that are rich may their fortunes be 
crowned ; 



POEMS. 



171 



Heaven send them fair weather from the time they 

leave us, 
Until they arrive safe on Old English ground. 

May Heaven protect all his Majesty's forces. 
And make them victorious over their foes; 
Prince Edward,for all thegoods deeds doneamongus > 
God grant him protection wherever he goes. 

May Sovereign and subjects all act in their station. 
As He that's above may approve of their deeds ; 
For good to themselves, and the honour of nations, 
Long may the crown royal be worn on their heads* 



THE DOG AND GUN. 

Tune—0/ie Bottle More. 

Whilst fond-hearted lovers do sing of the fair, 
I will sing of the joys in pursuing the hare ; 
Each brisk jovial sportsman shall laugh at the fun. 
Of the pleasures arising from clogs and a gun. 

When a sportsman does want to converse a fair 

maid, 
He can easy pretend he has got out of wad ; 
Then snugly into her sweet company he'll come. 
Entertained with a kiss, and get wad for his gun. 

In a cold frosty morning he jumps out of bed, 
By the soil word, ' Lie still clear, ' he cannot be 
staid ; 

h 2 



172 POEMS. 

By which some poor milk-sops are often undone, 
Unable to travel with dogs and a gun. 

Young C — k, that gay sportsman to none he will 

yield, 
Who 's cheerful, and supple to traverse the field ; 
Full seventy long miles in one day he did come, 
Long life to them knows how to handle a gun. 

With our gun, flask, and shot-bag, each man is 

equipped, 
See Thisbe and Phillis how steady they set ; 
Bold Nimrod starts pussy, and swifty does run. 
From right and left barrels we give her the gun. 

The drunkard may sit sottish over his bowl. 
Bewilder his senses, and look like an owl^ 
Such destruction to health we will carefully shun, 
And range o'er the fields with our dog and our gun* 

Some rakes they have told me soft pleasures they 

tried, 
But happiness there to them still was denied ; 
Can the pleasures that's over ere they're well begun f 
Be ever compared to a dog and a gun ? 



ROBERT BURNS' EPITAPH. 

Know reader, matchless Burns lies here interred^ 
By men of rank and genius muc'i revered ; 
The sculptured marble and the gold shall rot. 
Ere celebrated Burns shall be forgot. 



POEMS. 173 

A SPORTSMAN'S EPITAPH. 

Now here he lies below this stane, 

That Death had auften jeuket ; 
The meagre king then grinned fif fain. 

When he had got him heuket. 

O'er $e& and land he lang did watch, 

With studious wiles to get him ; 
At last he took him at a catch, 

And fairly overset him. 

Sportsmen draw near and shed a tear. 

O'er him wha weel did like ye ; 
But hypocrites forbear, forbear. 

In case he rise and strike ye. 



A HYMN 

FOR THE AUTHOR^ DAUGHTER, 

O thou, great God ! who reign'st above, 

And on this earth below, 
Whose powY can quell the stormy seas^ 

And billows proud also. 

Do Thou, for sake of Him who died. 

To save the human race, 
The sacred truth while I am youngs 

Upon my mind impress. 

Since all I read, and all I learn, 
And words that I express, 
h3 



174 FOEMS. 

And each thing else, would all be vain, 
Without thy special grace. 

My sins, original, O Lord, 
Please blot out of thy book ; 

My actual faults, I hope thou wilt 
Most graciously overlook.. 

With youthful passions, I, no doubt, 

Of many am possessed ; 
But as I grow to age mature, 

Let them be stiil suppressed, 

From those evils that's unforeseen 

To ev'ry mortal eye, 
Preserve me Lord — 'tis only Thou 

Can make them pass me by. 

In reading of thy holy word, 

I learn thou tak'st delight 
To hear such youthful lips as mine 

Call on thee morn and night. 

Inspire my mind with each good thought 
That's pleasant to thine ear ; 

For sure each prayer shall come to nough 
That's not from heart sincere. 

Continue health whilst thou art pleased, 

But when I am confined 
To a sick bed, do thou make me 

Unto thy will resigned. 

Thou, for our good, at times correct'si 
With thy afflicting rod., 



POEMS. 

To warn us of our soul's neglect, 
And think upon our God. 

The duty that I owe, O Lord, 

Unto my parents dear, 
Most faithfully help to discharge 

And still live in thy fear. 

My soul and body now I cast 

On thy peculiar care ; 
Hoping the vows I now express 

Before thee are sincere. 

May I on earth act such a part, 

As when I come to die, 
No sting of conscience pierce my heart 

When at my latest sigh. 



175 



THE EXTEMPORE BETHANKET, 

O Lord ! for what we've been receiving. 
Make us both thankful #nd believing, 
That ev'n on a random tramp, 
Thou still supplies the Poet's want. 



WATER OF ORR; 
A SONG. 

Tune — Flowers of the Forest, 

From strong recollection, what pleasant reflection, 
When I think upon the svyeet days of my youths 
h 4 



I?6 POEMS. 

Before grief had wounded, or cares me surrounded, 
Or knowing my Hf e was to run so unsmooth. 

When harmless excursions, and cheerful diversions, 
No boundless ideas had begun yet to soar, 

Ere sorrows had teazed me, my fishing rod pleased 
me, 
Which makes me to &mg of the Water of Orr. 

Untainted the breeze waves the sweet blooming 
heather, 
Whilst lambkins are skipping on yonder green 
hills, 
Where I and my school-fellows oft met together, 
And charmed with the sound of the clear pur- 
ling rillse 

How easy the task that my teacher then gave me, 
My memory retained it for once reading o^er, 

But cares without number, disturb my sweet slum- 
bers, 
Since I left that clear crystal stream called Orr, 

The low-roosted lark, in a fine summer morning, 
How sweetly he sings when he soars to the sky, 

Bright Phoebus mounts up, the high mountains a- 
dorning, 
The plover and moor-cock melodiously cry. 

I changed to hard fortune from innocent sporting, 
Thro** perilous dangers on far distant shore, 

But thousands of treasure, are not like the pleasure, 
In youth, I enjoyed on the Water of Orr. 



poEsis. 177 

A SONG ON KELTON. 

Tune. — Bonny Lass of Aberdeen. 

O why should Kelton lie unsung, 

And all the beauties of that place %. 
The sex so fair, and buildings rare, 

With numerous sweets that do it grace i 
Its lofty hills, and verdant plains, 

Its purling streams, and waters clear, 
With rural sceues, and darling swains, 

Which make brave Kelton loved so dear* 

When Phoebus darts his morning ray, 

And summit gained of every hill, 
What lovely prospects from Barlay 

Of shady groves and fruitful vale, 
Where Douglas Castle rears it's head, 

A spacious structure to be seen, 
Captain Heron's seat on Dungile's side, 

Completely built, and brightly shines. 

Along side of yon liquid plain, 

Stand fair Lochbank and Carlinwark. 
Where fishes play and numerous train, 

Of wild-fowl daily doth resort, 
The race-course on the other side, 

How pleasant 'tis to see them run ; 
Whilst the eager boy upon his steed, 

Applies both spur and whip to win* 

See Fortune, with her liberal hand, 
Profusely pours on *ome her store ;...- 



178 POEMS. 

We walk upon two brothers' land, 
From Castle Douglas to the shore ; 

Where Neptune rolls his briny wave 
Almost around Orchardton place, 

But the pendent rocks stands firm to save* 
The floods it's sweets cannot deface. 

What music is there may compare 

To opening hounds the hare pursue, 
In prospect from yon castle fair, 

O'er hill and dale run still in view. 
Whilst out aloud the sportsman calls, 

Hold on good dogs, and try about. 
Till out of breath poor pussy falls, 

Strength fails, at last she must give out. 

From the Dunguile now is removed, 

The prettiest nymph e'er tripped the green ; 
In foreign nations have I roved, 

But yet thy match I ne'er have seen ; 
Thy rosy cheeks and milk-white skin, 

Thy brilliant eyes, and waist so neat, 
With a handsome foot and polished limb. 

In short, a beauty quite complete. 

Ye sons of glee, who join with me, 

In singing of brave Kelton's praise 
Fill up your glass and drink to he, 

Who boldly crossed the stormy seas* 
Ye powers above, increase our love 

To him who travelled far awa, 
Whose liberal hands our wants remove, 

And make us happy ane an' a\ 



POEMS. 17(T 

* A SONG. 

Tune — Monsieur come if ye dare* 

My dear Sir, since you want something new, 
That in write or in print has not been, 

I was happy your Honour to view 
With a lady I highly esteem. 

That's your mark, if you intend to wed, 
There is none wishes you better than me ; 

She's a lovely sweet charming young maid, 
And accomplished in ev'ry degree. 

There's few Ladies that come to our town. 
That's so neatly proportioned as she ; 

From the sole of her foot to the crown, 
She is straight as the poplar tree. 

By the words that proceed from her mouth, 
I can guess at the powers of her mind ; 

Heav'n bless the dear amiable youth, 
And may fortune unto her prove kind. 

And so straight is her gait, when she walks, 
That is one thing that well pleases me, 

So explicit the fair creature talks, 

With a countenance graceful and free. 

Then when virtue to prudence is linked^. 

That shall make a permanent bliss. 
I was writing now just what I think, 

-There can none be offended at this, 
h6 



180 POEMS. 

ON GLASGOW. 

Glasgow's a place where genius meets it's worthy 
The artisan receives his due reward ; 

Friendly their hearts, refined is their mirth, 
By real experience knows the rustic bard. 

The stranger r eels himself at home, he tells, 
Encircled by thy sons and daughters kind, 

May Heav'n above protect thefri from all ills, 
And still support the greatness of their mind, 

Nobles, in all the elegance of style, 

How socially they meet at the Tontine ; 

Thy airy" nymphs, the glory of our isle, ' 

"With graceful steps adorn thy matchless Green. 

Delaware's banks, I own, have largely shared 
From Nature's hand, where happy I have been; 

Yet all it's sweets fall short with thee compared, 
Henceforth thy name is matchless Glasgow 
Green. 

At E L , where lib'ralB — d does live, 

The man of merit, and the gen'rous frien', 

Whose hand the poor, and those distressed relieves 5 
Such men of worth encircle Glasgow -Green. 



*er 



Farewell, ye bonny lads and lasses bra', 

In time of need, may you ne'er want a frien' £ 

My heart does warm, when I thi.ik on ye a\ 
An' him wha lives at head of Glasgow Green, 



POEMS. 181 



DAVID FISHER'S EPITAPH. 

Here lies poor David Fisher's clay, 
With loads of earth above him; 

At whose exit there's few was wae, 
Since few there were could love him ; 

But whether he is gone to heav'n, 

Or whether down to hell ; 
Let no man harshly judge that's living, 

For sure no man can tell. 



A LETTER TO W F ST. 

Will ready wit, O ! hear me now, 
Perhaps 111 tell something that's new, 
Of folks, to the external view, 

Haly's their creed, 
But when they're met by sic as you, 

Ye tear't a breed. 

See even some to lie and chill, 
Sklent on the side o' some cauld hill, 
Till pillars m^ist hang frae their bill ; 

O, what a notion ! 
For them to think that to be real 

Sterling devotion, 

And let none think but I adore 

The Ureat Being from shore to shore 

Protects me, where louds billows roar, 

Praised be his name* 



182 POEMS. 

Lefs all tir Omnipotent implore, 

And sing his fame. 

But why, O why, ells o' crape flying ? 
With feigned sighs, where people's dying, 
Yet their real conduct plain denying, 

That lengthened moan ; 
Forbid it Heav'n they get a frying 

In Cloot's hot home. 

By sly hypocrisy and worse 
Some muster up a weighty purse, 
They never mind the poor folks'* curse, 

With greed sae blinded, 
If they can get guineas to nurse, 

That's never minded, 

* Each bush a bield where they get money, 
But d — n sic bields, they suit not Johnny, 
Of those I like, I find nae mony, 

I hate sic truck, 
I curse the bush though e'er sae bonny, 

When ay thrown up. 

The poor, we aft see counted fools, 
For want o' these bra' uselV tools, 
That Negro men wi' picks and shools, 

Dig at Peru, 
For want o^ them, aften made snools, 

By that sad crew. 

Even duddy misers taen to spence, 
That canna mouth ae word o' sense, 
Unable to behave wi mense, 

But turn their hat, 



POEMS. 



183 



Ail* aft, at good fellows' expence, 

They raise a chat. 

The first time that ye're o'er, call in, 

Yon sang I brawly now can sing, 

'Twill make a Change-house, parlour ring, 

When wet's their throat, 
The ; O be joy ful's V a rare thing, 

To raise the note. 

For godsake, sirs, beware o' drink, 
Though our spirits whiles it lifts a link, 
. Yet down ten times as far they sink, 

And mickle mair 5 
And lead us on to misery's brink, 

Bord'ring despair. 



A DESCRIPTION OF HABBIE'S HOW. 

Now, before I begin my description of the dif- 
ferent places to which the name of Hubbies How 
has been given, permit me to make a few observa- 
tions on the reasons which induced me to write 
'on the subject. One of these reasons is, I have of- 
ten been asked on my travels, whether I thought 
the scenery and characters so admirably described 
by Ramsay, in his Gentle Shepherd, were real 
or fictitious ? and whether there \vas such a place 
as Habbie's How ? 

Being willing to satisfy the curiosity of my 
friends in this matter to the utmost of my power*' 



1S4 A DESCRIPTION OP HABBIE^S HOW. 

in June last, I began at Glencorse bridge, which 
is seven miles from Edinburgh, and followed the 
winding of the burn, which you cross nine or ten 
times before you reach the linn, which is about 
three miles from the bridge. About half way 
up the hollow stands Logan- House, which is said 
to have been in ancient times a hunting-seat to the 
Kings of Scotland. The hills on each side are of a 
most stupendous height. What some would have 
to be Mausers House, appears to have been a sheep 
bught. About half a mile farther up the burn, 
is what some would have to be the houses of 
Glaud and Symon ; they appear to me, however, 
to have been nothing else than what in Galloway 
are called sheep-wreaths, divided into different 
apartments 

Three hundred yards from thence, is a linn, 
about twenty or twenty-four 'feet high, which 
some would have to be the 6 lover's loupV it is a 
steep precipice, far from being perpendicular. 
Eighty yards from this linn is a stone erected to 
the memory of Allan Ramsay, with a short in- 
scription. A single 'rowan tree, with some juniper 
bushes, grow near the linn ; but not a single birch 
is to be seen Now the reader must know that I 
\ T isited this wild spot three times, and am very 
doubtful if ever our celebrated bard traversed this 
ble^k, and barren desart ; at any rate, I am certain 
it could by no means afford a scene for such a de- 
scription as he has given us of HabbieVHow .in 
his corned v. 

I am weU aware of the ambition which is apt 
to arise among men in matters of this kind, and 



A DESCRIPTION <3F HABBIE^S HOW. 185 

since in ancient times the Greeks contended and 
fought about the honour of giving birth to their 
great champion of Parnassus, we need not think it 
strange that our modern Caledonian gentlemen 
dispute in which of their estates lies the much ce- 
lebrated Habbie"s How. To use the words of 
that profound scholar and celebrated divine, the 
lleverend Dr Lamont, which I have always used 
as a maxim, 4 Truth sits upon the lip £ therefore 
you may with confidence give credit to what fol- 
lows in regard to what I consider as being the real 
Habbie's How, 

In order stiil more fully to satisfy my own cu- 
riosity, and the public, oh this point, on the 2d of 
June X812, I went to Newhall, where I met with 
a gentleman who very kindly gratified my curio- 
sity, by pointing out the particular places on that 
estate, bearing the description of what is men- 
tioned in the Gentle Shepherd. Newhall is the 
property of Robert Brown, Esq. and is twelve 
miles distant from Edinburgh, on the West Lin- 
ton road to Leadhills. 

Let me observe once more to my readers, that 
I am neither prejudiced against the one place, or 
prepossessed in favour of the other, on this occa- 
sion. Had I espoused the opinion of rustic tradi- 
tion, without examining the last mentioned place, 
I would certainly have given my opinion in favour 
of the former ; which circumstance makes plain to 
me how far historians may be misled by popular 
fictions. In support of this observation, I would 
adopt the language of an ingenious author, who 



186 A DESCRIPTION OP HABBIE*S HOW, 

says, < I would not give an hour on tlie spot for 
a whole cart load of recollection.* 

Be steady now my muse, and take a turn, 

Explore the windings of yon crystal burn, 

Where shepherd swains and nymphs were wont to rove, 

Up frae Glaud*s house to Jenny Barrie v s Cove. 

It is said that Jenny Barrie was the real name 
of Mause, the supposed witch. Whoever wishes 
to see Habbigs How to advantage, should begin 
at the place which is said to have been Glaud^s 
house, and compare Ramsay's description with 
the surrounding scenery, which terminates with 
Jenny Barriers Cove. 

* A snug thack house* before the door a green s 
Hens on the midding, ducks in dubs are seen* 
On th ; s side stands a barn, on that a byre ; 
A peat stack joins, and forms a rural square. 
The house is Glaud's — There you may see him lean, 
And to his divot seat invite his frienV 

The following was written on the 3d of June, 
on the spot. Glaud's house being the farthest 
down the burn we shall begin at it. The house 
fronts the south, and is in length twenty-one -feet 
by fifteen, and has two pretty large windows in 
front; the side walls are seven feet high. It is 
still inhabited, and is divided into two apartments* 
consisting of a kitchen and parlour. South from 
Glaud's house lies a beautiful howra, consisting of 
about two acres, which is circumscribed by a very 
high bank, covered with fir and pine, whilst the 
Esk runs in a straight direction on the south side, 
adorned with birches along its banks. Before the 



A DESCRIPTION OF HABBFE^S HOW. 187 

door of GlaucTs house stands the remains of a 
building which would appear to have been the 
barn and byre alluded to by Ramsay. 

About half a mile south-west of this, on the 
other side of the burn, is to be seen the remains 
of SymoiVs house. Within half a mile of this is 
the Harbour Craig, or what is called the « lover's 
Joup,' in the pastoral ; it is a perpendicular rock 
on the north-west side, of about thirty-six feet in 
height, which forms an interesting scene for those 
who are curious in surveying ( nature in her ever 
varying form.' It is reported, that during the 
persecutions in Scot^and^ on account of religion, 
some of the people fled here for refuge from their 
intolerant enemies, and hid themselves in crevices 
of the rocks, in order to avoid their rage and fury. 
Although quite inaccessible on the north side, you 
may descend from the adjoining elevated ground 
on the south-west side to the very verge of the 
precipice, where is a scene of horrible grandeur, 
which appears suitable to the following passage, 
where Patie says to Roger, 

* Yonder's a craig, since ye hae tint a' hope, 
Gae tilt my lad, an' tak the lover s loup.* 

The reader will easily observe, from the descrip- 
tion given, that this is the very -craig alluded to 
in these lines. While surveying the surrounding 
scenery from the summit of this stupendous rock, 
I sat down and wrote the following verse on Ro- 
ger's contemplating the advice of Patie. 

And shall I, fool, break neck, and arms, and legs, 
For the real essence of ten thousand plagues ? 



L 

188 A DESCRIPTION OP HABBIE^S HOIT* 

Has nature formed women so lovely fair, 
Yet given her darts to drive fowk to despair ? 

About half a mile from this appears a craigy 
bield, which is situated about one hundred and 
eighty yards distant from the mouth of the glen, 
on the north side of the burn. This is another 
romantic scene, resembling somewhat the appear- 
ance of the lover's loUp. The acljacent ground on 
the north slopes with a gentle declivity to the sum- 
mit of the rock, and is beautifully adorned with 
trees, consisting of firs, pines, beeches, &c. 

* Beneath the south-side <f a craig-y bield, 
Where crystal springs the halesome waters yield, 
Twa youthful shepherds or* the gowans lay, 
Tearing their flocks ae bonny morn of May. 
Poor Roger granes, till hollow echoes ring; 
But blyther Patie likes to laugh and sing. 5 

Having given the reader a complete view of the 
objects connected with the principal part of the 
subject, I shall now conduct him about half a mile 
farther, where we behold, in all the charms of rural 
magnificence, the celebrated linn of Habbie^s How. 

* Between twa birks, out owre a little linn 
The water fa's, and makes a singan din.' 

This linn is about ten feet in height, over which 
the burn pours itself in plaintive murmurs, and 
forms a pool about breast deep at the bottom of 
the rock, on the sides of which grow several birks, 
bearing the marks of * former years. ? 

North of the linn, about eighty yards distant, 
appear the remains of Babbie's house, from whence 
arises the appellation of Habbiis How. About a 



A DESCRIPTION OF HABBIe's HOW. 189 

mile and a half north-west from the linn, on a 
gentle elevation, stands Roger's house. It con- 
sists of two storeys, and from its appearance it is 
manifest that it had been inhabited by some family 
of distinction in former times, although it now 
stands without a roof. 

The next and last object I shall present to the 
reader on this part of the subject is the place 
occupied by Ma'use, the noted witch. It is about 
eighty yards distant from Roger's house, in a glen, 
which bears the name of Carlops, derived from 
carlinis loups, being two knolls where the witch is 
said to have exercised her powers of necromancy 
by jumping from the top of one knoll to the top 
of the other. Moreover there is a cave about half 
a mile distant from this, where the witch used to 
fly, as is said, in whirligig fashion, to receive in- 
structions from her master Belzebub, how to sub- 
due the weak and credulous minded peasantry* 
who were always more eager to obtain her favours 
than merit her displeasure, which they deemed an 
omen -of some dire misfortune which would inevi* 
tably befal them. 

The open field a cottage in a glen, 
An auld wife s: inning at the sunny en\ 
At a small distaixe by a blasted tree, 
Wi' falded arms, and half rais'd looks, ye see, 
Bauldy his lane. 

Having now shown the reader the whole of the 
rural and picturesque scenery of Habbie's How, 
he will at once discover, it he has read the comedy 
of the Gentle Shepherd, that it was from thence 



190 



A DESCRIPTION OF HAEBIE S HOW. 



that Allan Ramsay drew his plan and executed 
the work. And as an additional proof, which 
would indeed appear to be the chief, I shall relate 
a few particulars,, from good authority, relative to 
the poet himself. 

The whole of the foregoing scenery lies ,in the 
estate of Newhall, which at the time Allan Ram- 
say composed his comedy belonged to Mr Forbes, 
Advocate, who was one of the poefs most intimate 
friends ; and in order to cultivate and cherish their 
friendship, which was reciprocal, Ramsay went 
annually from Edinburgh to visit at Newhall, 
where he generally spent five or six weeks during 
the summer, and in the interim employed himself 
there in composing verses, which he used to recite 
before a select party of friends ; namely President 
Duncan Forbes of Culloden, Mr Forbes of New- 
hall, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Lord Minto, Captain 
Kennedy of Craigs, Mr Stewart of Innernity, Dr 
Clark, physician in Edinburgh, and Mr Aikman, 
portrait painter in Edinburgh, who drew a pic- 
ture comprehending the whole of these gentlemen, 
who 'were the patrons of Allan Ramsay, who is 
here represented in the attitude of reciting the 
productions of his muse, supposed to be the Gentle 
Shepherd ; which picture is now in the possession 
of Robert Brown, Esq. the present proprietor of 
Newhall. - 



POEMS. 191 

HABBIKS HOW; . 
A SONG. 

Tune — John Anderson my Je* 

I'll not invoke celestial flight, 

Borne on Pegasian wing, 
But here the sweets of summer bright, 

I cheerfully will sing. 

What flow'rs and trees all of their kind 5 

The face of nature show, 
What Allan here has justly >named, 

The far-famed Habbits How. 

In former days the heather bells 

Perfumed the lovely plain, 
The primrose banks which still display. 

Their beauty in the spring. 

The mavis 'mang the birkings green, 

Which makes my heart to glow, 
Whilst the blackbirds clear in chorus sing, 

The sweets of Habbits How. 

Swift flies the cushat through the wood, 

Tall grows the lofty pine, 
The trouts sport iir-the crystal floods, 

Where o'er the berries hing. 

White falls the water o'er the linn, 
The pool breast deep is clear. 



192 POEMS. 

O, how justly might young Peggy sing, 
The sweets of nature here. 

How happy are such rural scenes, 

Far from the city noise ; 
Tenting their flocks upon the plains, 

How innocent their joys. 

Now let us form the jovial ring, 

And make our glass overflow. 
And we'll eat, and drink, and dance, and sing, 

And toast sweet Hobble's How. 



SCOTS BOGGLES. 

Such tales their cheer at wake or gossipping, 
When it draws near to ivitching time of nighty 
Sudden, he starts, and hears, or thinks he hears 
The sound oj something purring at his heels, 

. Blair. 

'Tis nae wonder Will-wi'-the-Wisp 

In Scotland can't belaid, 
For he, like ilka ither guest, 

Haunts most where he's best fed. 
And now ye wives baith ane an' a', 

Tak this advice frae Gerrond, 
So weans will gang at the first ca', 

By night, and run your errand, 

W ithoutten fear. 

Whene'er a w r ean begins to speak, 
Then ye cry boggie takie, 



POEMS. 9$ 

He had a chappin wf auld Madge, 

And wow but he was vaunty. 
Though kiestless coofs austerely talk. 

An 1 speak whiles light about them, 
'Twill be when flint-stanes turn to chalk. 

That men will live without them, 

Which ne'er will be* 

Now lads and lasses a' farewell, 

From me yeVe got your fairing 
I hope then, when you buy a gill, 

Wll drink a health to Gerron\ 
Whilst I can laugh, and dance, and sing* 

And make my anvil chime, 
111 gladly make one of your ring, 

And spin a verse o' rhyme, 

As well's I dow* 




$8 POEMS. 

HEROIC VERSES, 

ON KILLING A FOX IN A SMALL PLANTATION BELONG* 
ING TO J. H. ESQ. 

The twelfth of the month, at the dawn of the day, 
From nightly marauding, and sated with prey, 
Sly Reynard returned by the verge of the lake, 
To find a retreat in the planting or brake. 

A shelter he found, as his cunning devised^ 
But marked were his motions, and sportsmen ap- 
prized ; 
His slumbers were short, as did quickly appear, 
From hunters with guns, and from dogs in the rear. 

Old Stormer and Jowler, deep mouthed and bold^ 
Staunch brothers of kidney, of race I am told, 
Of true blooded Spartans, that history adorn, 
As e'er were halooed or cheered with horn. 

Up came a clod-hoper as bold as you please, 
To substitute hail-shot had loaded with pease, 
A rusty old musket, all creaking like bones, 
Having hung in the smoke since the day of Paul 
Jones ! 

Surrounding the thicket each man took his ground. 
Tally-ho ! cover, hark !• — There was death in the 

sound: 
Old Reynard lay slumVring and dreaming of 

plunder, 
Till this terrible war-whoop did rouze him like 

thunder. 



TOE MS. 99 

He started — and muttered, while Jowler gave 

tongue, 
* IVe often been rouzed thus, the day is but young ; 
I'll scale this high fence, and again take the field ; 
If I be overtaken, I'll die ere I yield.' 

Resolved — gave a spring — took the way he thought 

best, 
Pop, pop, went the pease, as if at a crowds nest ; 
An eye more discerning soon gave him the twitch^ 
But fifty yards more, and he dropt in the ditch i 



REYNARD S LAST SPEECH, 



Don't think, like a ruffian, I'm here to declare 
Foul deeds, or to say to you, watch and beware; 
Of actions immoral, I ne'er knew the name, 
And cunning will ever redound to my fame* 

Should the place of my birth be the subject of 

quarrel, 
Unto all be|it known, I belong to Riscarrel ; 
Inured to fatigue, and accustomed to wander. 
I've often defeated the Great Alexander*. 

By my teeth, you will find that my years double five, 
Of my progeny numbers, perhaps, are alive ; 
Death's not more uncertain thro' frequent delay, 
The proverb still proving, * Each dog has its day. 9 

* Hunter for the County 

e2 



100 POEMS, 

I'm accused of bloodshed, of rapine— what not.? 
But the sheet of my conscience contains not a blot ; 
My conduct in life was Dame Nature's desire, 
While j/o«, cruel mortals, will murder for hire. 

The page of the ancient, I pray call to mind, 
You'll find it recorded, 4 I'm useful of kind,' 
When, tail unto tail the bold Danite once turned 5 
And -shocks and corn standing to ashes were burned, 

I own I oft watched where herds penned their 

flocks, 
And in whirligig fashion betrayed hens and cocks ; 
A gander right oft o"*er my shoulder I've thrown, 
My deeds are heroic, to sportsmen well known. 

Had the crow-fowler's carabine shortened my 

breath, 
I'd have broken our laws, and gone screaming to 

death ; 
But since by the hand of a sportsman I die, 
And a bright scholar too, not -a word will I cry. 

In the sunshine of life we find fault with too much* 
But hear the last words of a fox in a ditch : 
Go — spurn .not at Heav'a with pride and disdain^ 
For in earth, or in air, he made nothing In vain. 



POEMS. 



101 



THE SATIRICAL ADVERTISEMENT, 

OR THE 

EFFECTS OF A SAIR THUMB. 

Got almost tired with many a caper, 
And many a tipsy, swaggering vapour ; 
Whiles when I thought clear of each breaker 

In fortune's war, 
By fate, or some ill-willy creature, 

Dashed on the bar* 

Of foreign rocks no need complain, 
I savage these found maist at hame ; 
It suits me not just now to name, 

But by-and-by, 
With light-house, weather-cock, and fane 

Yell them descry. 



■*• 



Tea-table censure then is stubble, 
Tobacco clashing lights a bubble, 
Facts stated besides poet's fable 

Dressed off in style. 
To pay hame some vindictive cabal, 

The rest may smile. 

Could I hae stooped the gear to lift, 

By dint of hypocrite's sly drift, 

Or steered by curry favouring slight ; 

The gatherers rule; 
'Then soaring, I had reached the height 

Of many a fooL 
e3 



102 



POEMS. 



Nor fremit nor far less relation, 

Nor snool, nor make humble oblation> 

Nor to that soft piece of creation, 

Proved Samson's bant 
Nor cuifs, however high in station, 

Fd cringe to nane. 

Nor whinge about the great folks door, 
Look fley'd for fear that they look sour; 
Enough for me, if sternly owre 

My tale is told ; 
The mair I saw they wished me cowr, 

Mair I lopk'cl bold. 

What wonder, then, if I made lee-way, 
For how the diel could I mak sea-way, 
Fortune and me never drew ae way, 

Though urged the race % 
As craws shot at when in a bear fa,. 

Spit in my face. 

'Tis now the fortian halloween 

Since clashing gossips heard me scream^ 

What hurry I was to begin 

This world of wae, 
Lang or the wame-smith reached our inn, 

Jack cleared his way. 

Had Endows witch that night been there, 
Could not tell how with me 'twould fare, 
The ups and downs and every where 

Ydur bard has been ; 
Nor Jean, wha spaed by pouing hair 

Frae whare ye ken, 



POEMS. 103 

But to the neist part o' my tale r 

The part Fra waest far to tell, 

Spite o' baith gude an' far fetched skill, 

My thumb's main stay. 
By the first hinge, against my will, 

Is left the lae. 

Sax weeks excruciating pain, 

Or sleep or rest I could get nane ; 

Whiles up, whiles down, whiles loup and steff 

Across the floor ; 
Distorted face, nor could I ken 

Which way endure. 

My other self, best of her sex ! 
Wr canting words me didna vex ; ' 
Thousands for ane, husbands perplex 

Wr cursed din, 
Hell, little less than rueful Styx, 

For to be in. 

Had the best piece of finished clay, 

Seven years had fasted and a day, 

A 1 begged an' sought what Fse no say- 
But to proceed, 

What ance fu' gleg had not that way 

Once heaved the head* 

Search all antiquity's lang pages, 
Trace war in all its different stages. 
Ask modern hoary headed sages, 

With grief they'll tell* 
The hottest war and longest rages 

Through women's ill. 

p 4 



104 POEMS. 

I wondered aft Uzzean Job 

A piece the auld pot didna clod, 

An' stap the auld rib's sinfif gab 

In sic extreme, 
When galled all owre wi' itching scab. 

An' lost ilk wean. 

I would not here be understood, 
That no one of the sex was good, 
For certain that wad be owre rud© 

Even for mysel ; 
There's few but in some merry mood 

But likes a spell. 

To say I eat ay at ae manger, 
Nor fan' the bosy of a stranger 
Or e'er pat mysel in danger 

O' lying-in ; 
To me 'twad be, wha's been a ranger^ 

A double sin. 

What I was gaun'to advertise, 
To keep a shap some did advise ; 
But here another kind of prize, 

Ye've got to handle, 
Parnassian gear stinks not one's nieve 

Like soap and candle, 

Being scarce o' siller o' my ain, 
An' folks are e'en right thre to len' 
Lest on some frolic I should spen' 

A' in a crack; 
I drapt the thoughts o't, turned the pen, 

So farewell shap. 



POEMS . I0i 

For me, thank God, I'm one of those, 
lay hae found mair friends than foes, 
Though snarling cuds would fain oppose 
My onward flight : 
Yet where they darna set their nose, 

, I whiles see light* 

On sic like bodies never think* 
We'll live when such are a' extinct, 
The nearer they the grave's dread brink. 

Nearer forgotten ; 
Qui .-we the mair swept up the rink 

When banes are rotten, 



THE SHOOTING ADVERTISEMENT, 
A POEM. 

A' ye wha keep a billet gun, , 

An' profit like alang w? run, 

The twenty-ninth o" this month come 

Here without fail,. 
Where them the largest prize will win 

Shoots next the nail. 

Your barrel spunge, and clean your lock, 
That she may go at the first stroke, 
And not strike one, two, th ee o'clock, 

Burn pryming syne, . 
Eor that wad sadly keep us back. 

spend our time* 



106 



POEMS. 



Tho' pelted sair wi' Fortune's flail, 
I fain wad scramble yet up hillj 
Come, then, and lend a hearty spell, 

I'll steel my feet* 
For trouth I tak it unco ill 

For to be beat. 

Had I but kept mysel ay douse, 
Like married sauls— a mere recluse, 
Perhaps, this day, a better bouse 

Might been my fate, 
But roaming, like a Highland goose, 

Thro' many a State ; 

As Phaeton his father's horse 

Could not keep in the middle course, 

Them drove by Fancy's whip full worse, 

With reins unchecked^ 
And backward look, w? sad remorse, 

An' aft reflect 

I've been a droll pet a' my days, 
An' some say fickle in my ways, 
But better friends, think I the bays 

Ere lang shall wear?. 
An' song upo' dear Scotia's braes*, 

Baith far an' near^ 

What tho' I've taen tramps not a few, 
This day, perhaps, nae waur for you, 
Here's fire-irons that will stan' a view 

Of the best critic* 
Except such as work ne'er knew, 

That's most conceited* 



poems* 107 

r By turns their arms advance in equal time> 
By turns their hands descend, and hammers chime^ 
They turn the glowing mass with crooked tongs, 
The fiery work proceeds with rustic songs.' 

Virgin 

Nail-hammers here, filed up wr skill, 
Fm Cyclop and Brontes mysel, 
Except ae chiel swings the great mell, 

An' files at times. 
Or blows until I take a spell 

Of rustic rhymes, 

O, could I but handle my grammar, 
Well as some say, I can a hammer, 
Then my Pegasus would not stammer, 

In ten hours' 1 flight, 
For weel I ken he is a rammer, 

When guided right, 

On him I now intend to ride, 
An' try to stem misfortune's tide ; 
She's gien me mony a sair tanned hide, 

It sets her ill, 
But, Jamie, if I reach the side, 

Til jaw her weeh 

With you I like to crack sometimes, 
For w r eel ye ken to turn the taings, 
Nor guilty o' the horrid crimes, 

But handles weel, 
Whilst some murders or sadly lames 

Baith aim and steeL 

I own, sometimes we tack o'er muckle^ 
e 6 



108 POEMS. 

But smiths and poets like the bottle, 
It maks them stan' a better brattle, 

When dry's their throat 
But some hae spaed, 4 I winna settle 

Whilst there's a groat. 9 

But, brither, they're perhaps mistaen, 

Lest they should say, 6 For aught they ken. 9 

I played o'er lang at that house en' 

My feet are sair, 
I'll drown the bees in some deep glen, 

To rise nae mair. 

I dinna ken but Fortune's right, 

But chiels like me, vvhase brains are light, 

Of cash we canna bear much weight, 

She keeps it up, 
Till we see things wi' wisdom's light, 

An' learn mair wit. 

Vain men, in passion, aften frown 

'Gainst Providence, yet all must own 

Best are the rules from Heav'n comes down, 

When rightly used, 
But from the beggar to the crown, 

They're aft abused. 

Now what ye'll say I nearly ken, 

That Satan is reproving sin ; 

God send that I some sauls could win 

From yon dire coast, 
• Then neither paper, ink, nor pen, 

I wad count lost. 



POEMS. 109 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Dear brither, I Adder 
At mention o' your name, 

Lefs yet meet together, 
And swap a verse o 1 rhyme, 



ADVERTISEMENT IN HARTFORD- 
STATE OF CONNECTICUT. 

For to beg leave and with dull prose. 

Is what I never would propose, 

A Whiper Will story indeed, 

As if one did not know their trade. 

A hammer, file, and rasp, all three, 
You'll find I handle can with glee, 
ril shoe horse in the neatest manner, 
Keep from them going to the tanner. 

Their feet I handsomely will clean, 
Inside and outside make them shine, 
And use the utmost of my skill, 
Collected now from isle to isle. 

• 
Now ladies, smash your locks and keys, 
And twist the wards as fast 's ye please, 
For Fm the boy knows how to mend them, 
Gerrond's a stranger — now befriend him. 

Dear brother sportsmen, crack the springs 
Of these things I call shooting-iions.> 



110 POEMS, 

All this you'll find there's no deceit in, 
But proving pudding is in eating. 

Please come and try your humble servant. 
Your most obedient, John Gerrond. 



JAMES GERROND'S ELEGY. 

Is there wha vvadna hang the head, 
To hear this clever sportsman's dead, 
An' no draw near wi' flinty speed, 

An' o'er this stone, 
The tears shed down wi' amber bead, 

.An' heave a moan. 

Ah ! boys, here lies the last remains, 
Of shoulders broad and shapely limbs, 
An' sinews tough as fiddle-strings, 

Or Neptune's weed, 
Nae mair Carstrammon wood will ring, 

James Gerrond's dead. 

But what will Alexander do, 

When Reynard taks for Cairnsmoor brow, 

He ay ran formost o' his crew, 

W f powder and lead, 
Of Fortune he has cause to rue, 

James Gerrond's dead^ 

He ne'er like some began to blaw^ 
For rinning out a mile or twa 5 



POEMS. 

Bui gallantly he scoured avva 

Through moss and mead^ 
Better that he'd lost ither twa, 

James Gerrond's dead. 

Whan kipple-dirt shuts lake and gutter, 
And teals in streams kick up a splutter, 
Then hardened grow the lumps o' butter, 

Can scarce be spread, 
Wha now will hm' han' clear the witter ? 

James Gerrond's dead. 

Ay when the word was c Tak ye're willo'V 

He sent it up as ony bullet, 

Cries Nelson, 6 L — d ! he crack the skull oV 

Such was his dread ; 
But now in Deaths cold arms he's lolled, 

James Gerrond's dead. 

When painted pasteboard's round divided,, 
An' feckless elfs wi' ither chided, 
The quarrel there he soon decided, 

Them he agreed ; 
Such brulzies he could ne'er abide it ; 

James Gerrond's dead. 

Puss lang lugs, now feed at your ease, 
And blackcocks coo upo' the braes, 
Blutter aad snipe, go jump and squeeze 

Through pipe and reed A 
Ducks come to mill-dam when ye please, 

James- Gerrond's dead* 

M'C~<w— y now has cause to mourn,. 



112 POEMS. 

When king of trouts comes up the burn, 
Wha now wi" him will tak their turn, 

The Net to spread, 
Ae day he gaed, but ne'er returned. 

James Gerrond's dead-. 

Ye wheeple-wliaple shore traversers, 
Go rin and squeal upon the marshes, 
Ca" sax inch bills in ithers a — es, 

Up to the h^ad, 
For him wha showed on you nae mercies, 

James Gerrond's dead* 

Lament, auld wives, frae Nith to Cree, 
When corn yeVe cutting by the knee, 
To lend a hand he was ay free, 

In time o' need ; 
Ye lost a friend as well as mc, 

James Gerrond's dead* 

At K — t — n hill where hundreds stan\ 
He fearless stood with heaved han', 
Nine years king o** the putting clan, 

He took the lead, 
But now no more he joins the ban\ 

James Gerrond's dead. 

In vain the woodcock taks a whirl, 
In vain to him the pairtricks churl, 
What guid to him when boss balls birl, 

OeV the door head ; 
In vain Loch Brake may wave and pirl, 

Since Gerrond's dead 



POEMS. 113 

Nae mair there, hell steer there., 

To fill his willow creel ; 
He's low laid, though it's said, 

He was a clever chiel. 

JAMES GERROND'S EPITAPH. 

Entomed here lies the generous and the brave^ 
The tender heart now silent in the grave ; 
But yet we hope his soul to heaven did soar, 
And *s happy now on that celestial shore. 

PER CONTRA. 

Dally and Stuart go fire sax rounds, 
On yon green hill aboon M'K ■ 's, 
Till Birkie's bell return the sounds, 

An* chimlas shiver, 
For he who liked the noise o' hounds, 

Is well as ever. 



THE YOUTH OF JAMES CLONNIE 

Sportsmen keen I'm wae to tell ye, 
Tyrant death has Clonnie slain ; 

Readily ye41 ask how fell he ; 
First, afs weanhood lets begin. 

Soon as Jame a wean could snaggit, 
Plait sax hairs and make a gin. 



114 POEMS. 

Minnons, pars, and eels he stabbit, 
Nieved aneth brow and stane. 

Frae the slack down to the whaup isle. 
Fly, or bait, or nieve, or gin, 

Lister, fork, pitle, or gase whiles ; 
Few escaped when James turned in. 

Excepting twa auld trouts wha kend 
The fearful stamp of Clonnie's feet,. 

Far into water mouse holes dend, 
Till he the place had fairly left 

See him wi' a Woodhills hazle, 
Ae bait-hook, perhaps, his store^ 

Keen they bite after a drizzle 
Of an April sunshine shower. 

No ae backward thought perplexed him 5 
Dozens three now in the ereeJ ; 

Fickle fate it ne'er will vex him— « 
Jumble plays a grusome eel ; 

In below the brow she twigs it- 
Jamie's heart loups fast wi' fear, 

Through a wretched thorn mis-rids it*. 
Brake's hook and sets off career. 

Here his future hopes were blasted, 
Half the day yet scarcely run; 

Sweetest pleasures aft short lasted I 
Ends amaist or weel begun. 

Pause for ance let's, and consider 
If life's a gude gift or no ? 



POEMS. US 

Blest ae day here, crossed the tithex ? 
Happy ae hour, next is woe. 

See the bubble on the water, 

'Scaped frae aff the dancing stream; 

Smallest breath of wind soon scatter, 
Never, never mair is seen. 

Red and blue the sky now painted,. 

Eagerly we gaze upon ; 
Minutes hence, no more we tent itj> 

Gone for ever, ever gone ! 

Thus, our hero full of vigour, 

Length of days seemed in his brow^ 

But, alas ! death touched the trigger, 
Soon hid Jamie from our view. 



CLONNIE'S ELEGY, 

Hear me a wee, ye finny race, 

And fowls that fly through empty space ; 

Ye harmless hares and beasts of chace, 

Come forth w¥ glee j 
To you there ne'er was in this place, 

Sic jubilee. 

Ye geds, that's sae far-famed for greed, 
Come close ashore in a' your pride, 
Swim cheek for chou alang trouts side, 

Mak sure your glam ; 



116 POEMS. 

Deaths weapons now waved o^er your head, 
A' but a sham. 

Ye supple sea-trouts splash your fill, 
45yne beat the water wV your tail ; 
Sud ony prod your gills assail, 

Be not alarmed ; 
Ae scoot will prove the tackle frail—* 

Yell no be harmed. 

Ye salmon bold the doughs now clear, 
IVe something pleasing in your ear, 
The genuine swaddle-breeks*, nae mair 

Thrown o'er your head; 
The inventor, Carson, both and heir, 

James Clonnie's dead. 

Woodcocks tak your aerial flight, 
And cleave the air on pinions swift, 
Careless whether it's day or night 

Ye here arrive ? 
Our lealest shot, gied you maist fright, 

Nae mair alive. 

Ye geese, compelled by frost an' snaw, 
Shape out your course and come awa; 
Ye needna set ae watch ava, 

Dash in and sport ye ; 
The plufFs shot, since our chief 's awa, 

Will scarcely hurt ye. 

* Samuel Carson, a noted Fisher, kept a fly-hook to which he. 
gave the name oi Swaddle-Breeks. He tried it over the pools, 
but would not let any catch for fear of losing it. 



POEMS. |I1 

Eels from each stinking ditch and mud, 
Eouze up and swash, wamble and scud; 
The rest your serpent looks may og, 

They'll scarce admit ye. 
But safe now from you dire click thud. 

So never fret ye. 

Perches set up your shark-like fin, 
Haunt pools ye like best to be in, 
Dive deep, or just the w r ater skim 

In schools together ; 
Hooks fraught with death nae mair yVll fin* 

CT a dear brither, 

Otters now bask as lang's ye please, 
Fearless lie still and tak your ease^ 
Cock up your snout and snuff the breeze, 

Or fish devour; 
The red blood him wha made ye sneeze, 

Is now no more. 

Ye teals, w T ha bpeed in foreign climes, 
Could ye at hame but sing these lines ; 
How published it was in Gerrond's rhymes, 

Our hero's dead, 
The lift weM soon not see with wings, 

Aboon our head. 

Ye swans, come and majestic sail, 
Black legs and feet no more bewail, 
"With oary feet, swim round Threve isle, 

VYith arched neck ; 
From yon dread vault no more the hail 

Your quiils can break. 



118 POEMS? 

Ye blackcocks 'bout the end of Screel, 
Pin round and whiz, and spread your tail, 
On bonny green top of Dunguile*, 

There'll nought distress ye ; 
. The gun in's hand wha shot sae leal, 

Nae mair harass ye. 

Ye grouse, wha haunt Stockerton moor, 
3Te needna rin and hide and cowre ; 
Your greatest danger now is owre, 

The fatal gun, 
Nae mair will mak your feathers stour 

Like mots F sun. 

Ye fumerts fierce, come frae your glen, 
Ye'r safe now at the lint mill end ; 
Yet if ye" catch a duck or hen, 

Auld wives are vicious, 
An' faith ye maun take tent to ken 

Whaur terrier reaches. 

Favourite o' a' poor timmer-shanks, 
Miles round our hero kend thy haunts ; 
No more by him thy wee heart pants, 

Or legs he'll flail, 
In quarry holes or sunny banks, 

Or 'mang the kail. 

Lastly, ye ducks, come in a flock,. 
Swatter your fill at twall o'clock ? 
Our bardie's thumb nae mair can cock, 
Till out of time ; 

* A ver> handsome green hill above the seat of Major Herosi 



POEMS. 119 

Nor Clonnie, your more dreaded shot, 

Turns up your wame* 

Ye winged tribe now a' together 

By a chance shot may lose a feather, 

Ye beasts in dale 'mang heugh and heather, 

May suffer skaith ; 
What's that to him whase every trigger, 

Was certain death. 



CLONNIKS EPITAPH. 

Frae the cold north congealed no more the snaw, 
Summon his cares to tent th 1 approach of morn, 
Ere Phoebus'' ray the double track might thaw, 
Or pairtrick's scatter from the sheltering thorn. 

The full orbed moon, the evening twinkling star, 
Witness his vigilance no more at the stream 
Where Douglas mocked the hostile din of war, 
TIx_e howlets haunt now, and the croaking ren. 

"O'er the lone church-yard frae the sea-beat shore, 
In wild expanse the whaup may stretch her wing, 
With sanguine hopes to brood upon the moor, 
And care maternal b^ck her young ones bring. 

Not so with him whose throbbing feeling heart, 
Eyes piteous fix^d on wife and children dear; 
It was not al! lor ver ""bout to part. 
JLeft to the woilu'o unfriendly taunt and jeer* 



120 ' POEM3. 

No more we^ll meet, whilst Watty wags his tail, 
At some whin-bush, screened frae the chilly blast ; 
In sportsmen's phrase tell o'er the joyous tale, 
Next day's design, or laugh at what is past. 

Suffice 't to say, in few to sum up all, 
Frae warld's tormenting care his body rests,. 
Nor doubtful that in heav'n his happy saul 
Is cozie now, with brother Esau blest. 



DEAR MEAL 



A POEM, 



A 1 * ye wha ken the good o' grain, 
An* hae nane growing o' your ain, 
Lend now your lugs to Gerrond's pen, 

An 1 listen weel, 
T ill he describe how ill folks fen 

By this dear meaL 

I do not here invoke the nine., 

But Him who set the bow a sign, 

An' promised, whilst the earth remains, 

That he would give 
Seed time and harvest unto men, 

That they might live. 

He never fails to keep his word, 
. Yet some, "twad seem, want much the s«— *— d> 



POEMS. 121 

When from the poor meal up they hoard, 
Tho' plenty's given ; 

'Twas ne'er ordained thus by the Lord, 

The King of Heav'n. 

For me, I'm but a corkv chiel, 
As ever handled aim or steel, 
Yet some will say, cork for mysel, 

Half crazed wi' rhyme, 
Yet, if by chance the truth I tell. 

Sure that's nae crime. 

O, thou wha points the road to hell, 
Take care thou gangst na there thysel, 
For, if 'tis true the people tell, 

When in thy powY, 
To stop — let ships crowd a' their sail 

Wi' meal and flour. 

O D get as warm to ye're feet^ 

As when ye spake sae bauld for Kate, 
An' dinna let awa ae tate, 

The diel a pickle, 
For fear they ca' at your white gate, 

With twa edged whittle. 

Think on the Gothic pillared stand. 
And that dire conflict that began 
A meal mob in a plenteous Ian', 

An' worst of a**, 
Though en'mies ports ye dinna cram, 

Ye starve us a\ 

By a' the main-springs, blue a#' clear 5 
p 






122 POEMS. 

That H h has made this saxteen year 

Next season, if you tak na care, 

Then farewell Rhine 
Bloodshed and wars they'll be, I fear, 

Too much at hame. 

Then balconies and pallisading, 
With gilded coaches that ye ride in, 
Paper and painted rooms ye bide in, 

Ye'll get pulled down. 
If this ye persevere and pride in, 

To starve a town. 



Some tell what taxes Pitt lays on, 

And girns at George upo' the throne ; 

L — d knows, we've far waur Pitts at home, 

That liye amang us, 
Entrusted too much that's well known, 

Which sadly wrang us, 

An' next ye V 1 — rs, saul-sworn, 

Which one might thought deceit wad scorn, 
But basely 'gainst the poor did turn. 

And joined a S — t, 
Which some say, by this time should worn 

A b — k top knot. 

Ye farmers eat and drink like lairds, 
3Lefs have one whet more at your beards. 
The pond'ring judge will give at large 

The poor relief, 
Though meal by night awa ye targe 

Like ony thief, 



POEMS. 



123 



To think the bodies did deny, 
Until they got it raised so high, 
Deaf lugs had they to poor folks' cry, 

But now diel thank them* 
God's goodness sends us fresh supply, 

So we can want them. 

Yet ye wha own a whirligigum 

Forestall meal let's ken where they hide in 5 

Then we shall find out each intrigum, 

Spite o' their heart, 
An' faith we'se hae baith meal and smiddum, 

Before we part. 

W-ll B ships meal at the L a, 

Nae keener imp to send awa, 

Whilst auld wives spae, baith ane an' a', 

He will not tarrv 
Till Cloots his head like meal maks sma*, 

Yont Charon's ferry. 

Some said J T n took't sae ill 

To see yon lines frae H h's quill, 

He shivering stood aghast and pale, 

And, O what stuff, 
What queer invented lies they tell 

About the snuff. 

Heav'n's pow'rs keep H h long alive* 

And may his beauteous offspring thrive, 
For when some en'mies hard did strive 

To root them out. 
He spak the word* the bumming hive 

Soon put about, 

*2 



124? POEMS. 

I 

There's D— y C— ton o' the N— x, 
Cautious o' cash, and rich o' pokes ; 
But N-d can make him shill the notes, 

Against his will, 
Yet there are waur 'mang farmer folks, 

Than D— y still. 

I own a set of meaner trash, 
Went out and made a beggar dash, 
Void of all reason in their pash, 

From a wee town, 
An' just because they had nae cash, 

Came empty home. 

The inspired penman, honest man, 
Describes a vile libidinous clan, 
Begets a wean, and nought in's hand ; 

Are farmers then, ' . 
Obliged a rabble's guts to cram, 

An* starve their ain» 

Now, dit your gabs, ye taunting set. 
Adore your D s the great, 

Wha when he saw you iq a strait, 

He sent supply, 
But greedy folks their teeth wad grate^ 

On till they die. 

Or Captain H n's feelings good, 

So far as I hae understood, 

Amid the poor's complaint for food, 

He set e ef, 
Majestic stands amang the crowd, 

Like souk grand chief. 



POEMS. 



125 



I hear the farmers' dogs and cats 

About fire-sides got some blue bats 

Last harvest, when baith stooks and stacks, 

Fast fast were rotting, 
Whilst chittling mice and lang tailed rats 

Gude stuff were cutting, 

O Sirs ! consider how the Lord, 

Hath kept auld Scotland frae the sword* 

So let us join with one accord, 

An* praise his name^ 
An* ay his goodness be implored 

For peace at hame. 



THE MEAL MARKET. 

INSCRIBED TO MR E H 

Whaler I am nae odds to you, 

Gin I can make you laugh, Sir, 
As Care has not disturbed your brow, 
'Twill bide me nae great kaugh Sir. 
IVe kend you now these saxteen years, 

To be weel clad and sarket ; 
Aiblins I thought 'twad mak you sneer,. 
To hear our braw Meal Market 
Described right. 

L— d man ! 'twad mak a body spue, 
To see a set o' ribes, 
f3 



126 POEMS, 

With Cain self-condemned brow, 

Or Indian swarthy tribes, 
With lip turned down, to hide the fraud 

Of their bad speculations, 
Which comes from a censorious gab, 

'Gainst folk in higher stations 

Would once done good. 

'Tis well for us there lives near han 1 

A judge that winna justle, 
Not like our twa-faced b— -e clan, - 

Join great folks in a bustle. 
Mind how ye hooked your arm in mine, 

Meanwhile, to save reflections, 
To threaten poor folks must be mean, 

With others high connexions, 
Ad apropos. 

But mark the wisdom of the youth, 

How wisely he foresaw, 
There might been wars at hame, in truths 

That wad hae hurt us a\ 
He hates to see poor folks oppressed. 

In judgment when he's sitting, 
Nor cannot see widows oppressed 

By the new mode of flitting. 

Lang may he live 

Not versed in scripture, that's a fact, 

But yet, I think IVe read it, 
In heaven nae one silence brak, 

A half hour, that I credit. 
lh\t here, on this terrestrial ha!l 3 



POEMS. 

There's no corporeal bar 
Can keep an auld wife's tongue from seal, 
But raise eternal war, 

Baitb night and day* 

As sailors strip their legs an' arms 

To show the sad disaster, 
With them they bring a brash o' bairns* 

That they may speed the faster ; 
Relate how they left nane at hame, 

But Rab rocking wee Tibby, 
And, wi 1 a melancholy grane, 

Say, hauden is nae body 

Like them yon day* 

At the first clink o' HornaPs bell, 

Our pock is sought that minute, 
As for the barrel truth to tell, 

There's seldom aught within it. 
But B g now comes with the key, 

G-d knows, wad need Job's patience ; 
Now, Eben come your ways with me, 

Till farther observations 

We mak this day. 

Forced was the smile, I weel could see 3 

Frae these delurious faces, 
Sweet Nature's charms, and heartfelt glee* 

Had left their wonted places. 
As when bright Phoebus leaves this earth* 

Back to the ocean isles, 
Domestic cares destroy our mirth^ 



12? 



ISS poems. 

Cheek dimples, smirks and smiles, 

Sair, sair that day. 

As ducks meet in a puddle hole, 

They mak an unco splatter, 
Full hard it is for D — p to thole 

Their senseless, noisy clatter. 
To be served first they speak him fair, 

But then behind his back, 
Tell how he cheats ; they wrang him sair* 

That sad vindictive pack, 

An that's their sort> 

Now Eben I must bid farewell, 

'Tis now maist time to drap it, 
I kend ye ay a friendly chiel, 

Or diel a bit ye\i get it. 
There's Kirkland John and Boreland Taify 

Fine chiels as e'er I saw man, 
Or saddler J a me, out owfre a dram, 

IM maist said best ava man, 

Inspired wi' gin. 



PEACE AND PLENTY. 

Gude morning, neebor ! how d'ye do ? 
Faith, hearty, though not always fu*, 
Mony a rub this warid through 

I daily meet ; 
But stay, Tve just heard something new 

Upo' the street 



POEMS. 129 

The papers say there's peace wV France, 
The very thought may gar ye dance, 
For me, amaist Fm in a trance— 

Your snuff let 's pree— r 
The meal will soon be aughteen pence, 

An" that yell. see. 

**Tis Addington they say has done it, 
Had Pitt been on, Fd lay my bonnet, 
We wad hae sung anither sonnet, 

Wr drum and fife ; 
An* taxes mair had laid upon it, 

To squeeze our life. 

Heigh man ! we hae been sair forfought, 
Our kail an" brose hae dear been bought, 
We stood the battle as we ought — 

WeVe owre the sleugh— •• 
An' ay hae paid for what we bought, 

We're weel eneugh. 

Had it not been that Ijjdian flour 
That just arrived in happy hour, 
O dool an' wae man for the poor, 

On scanty fare !— •- 
It made the farmers look right sour, 

But diel-ma-care. 

No lang sinsyne I took twa pocks, 
(Ane was for meal, an' ane for grots) 
To ane o' thae rich farmer folks, 

Him what d'ye call,. 
Quoth he, « There's John, ITi just provoke 

His very sauk 

F S 



130 POEMS. 

c John, I'll teach you how to sing— 
The intrinsic value of a tiling 
Is just as much as it will bring — 

The meal is^t-e— 
'Twill be, Pll wager ony thing, 

Dearer belyve.' 

I take my text frae Hudibras, 

In my sleeve, quoth I, YeVe just an ass, 

That neither thistles eat nor trash, 

When corn^s to pree, 
This truth's sae common, let it pass 
'Tween yoiv and me. 

What o' the warld I ever saw, 
The weakest ay gae niest the wa'; 
35ut gude an" ill 's the lot of a\ 

In hale or part— 
I wish them weel, baith great an** sma\ 
With a' my heart. 

L — d ! when d'ye think wad conscience wakef 
He'll one day surely gar them quake, 
Lest they the nether h~ll should take, 

Without remead, 
They'll feel the sting, else I mistake, 

Afore they're dead, 

My years are near threescore an' nine, 
But never passed I sic a time ; 
Better dwell in Indian clime, 

Amang the blacks, 
Than here in wa's o' stane an' lime, 

Without the plack& 



POEMS. 

May peace and plenty be our lot, 
Unstained by any vicious spot, 
For naething else care I a groat, 

Not a baubee— 
The proud, the rich, maun die an' rot,. 

As well as we. 



131 



VERSES, 

Written on the General Peace, April 1802, 

Rejoice Britannia's sons by «ea and land, 
Since now we hope no more the din of war, 

Or armies bright, on hostile ground shall stand^ 
To see the shocking sight of reeking gore. 

No more the fair one's cheeks with tears bedewed 5 
Or on the pillow restless lays her head, 

The youth returns to home she solemn vowed 
No other should enjoy her n up tail bed. 

The winged minutes now fly swiftly on, 

Fond hope has chaced each throb quite from her 
heart, 

The knot is tied, disquietude is gone, 

They now are joined, till death no more to part 

An only son, methinks, I see returned, 

The promised hope of age's declining years. 
He's now come back, for whom they long had 
mourned, 
Once pressed away, and left them all in tears 



138 Mgfl, 

See the fond mother cling about his neck, 
Her eyes o'erflow with extacy of joy ; 

Paternal tears his Father's cheeks have wet, 
Since he once more beholds his darling boy, 

May universal peace far ever reign, 

God bless King George, and happy may he be; 
Per all the powYs that 'gainst us did combine, 

His forces still reign king upon the sea. 



Tf 



SATIRE ON SCRIBBLERS. 

The Author's receiving a letter from a young lady r in which she gavp 
him an account of some characters, ( concealing their names J ivha 
had written home very defamatory lines about her and some others- 
who had been at a Squaremans JSall^ gave occasion to the joUovs- 
ing Poem, 

What subterraneous beast from under ground 

Is this, that makes such inharmonious sound ? 

Ingulfed in all he horrors of despair, 

Turned back, unable to pay Charon's fare. < 

The reason why to hell he ne'er was hurled, 

Broke, hurt the poor, and plagued this upper worlds 

Through the realms of Chaos and old night, 

He struggled through with many a taunt and slight; 

With clamorous noise his ears now are assaulted, 

Throws up how he 'mang apple orchards skulked ; 

At last in view on that infernal strand, 

On the singed beach he saw old Charon stand ^ 

Says he, I lived by fiatfYy upon earth, 

By this I'll try lo cross old Charon's firths 



P0EM8. 133 

Half verse, half prose, which lately he at hame, 
Had tried his harmless neighbours to detains, 
In Charon's lugs could no admittance gain. 

This uproar made each hollow neuk to sound* 
Till onward came hell's treble -headed hound 
From Pandcemonium the infernal peers 
To hearten on Cerberus gave three cheers. 
Pursue him Cerberus, lengthen out your stride^ 
And catch him ere he hole at the Catcraig ! 
Satan sung out, ' Be sure the villain try, 
Reward him with the wages of envy, 
For which sin now I here in hell do lie.* 5 
Up to this world from the infernal pit, 
Nor had old Cerberus ever lost the fit ; 
O er the Flock Moor they come, and by this time 
Are joined by other two equal in crime. 

Old Cerberus here, perhaps, had lost the hunt* 
Had not Pegasus taen't a high affront, 
Such clownish heads, and void of genius, tell 
That they had drunk some of the muse's well. 
All three at ance they stopt the fatal course ; 
For ance a judge here sat the poet's horse. 
Pegasus swore him on the pains of hell, 
That he their characters would exactly tell 5 
Or guilty of these vicious rhymes himsel. 

My Lord, of speech I am but very slow, 
But now have patience, something a propos 3 
About these rhymers here perhaps Til show. 
To save his distance consents to inform, 
And as it were King's evidence doth turn. 
6 My Lord, ye mind the Gauls went into Greece; 
The Grecians fled when no one gave them chase : 



134 POEMS. 

When Pan upon uneven reeds he played. 
They ran discomfited and all dismayed. 1 — 

' Dear man be more articulate in your speech, 
Or back I'll send you to the fiery beach/ 

6 My Lord, my Lord ! these men ae day at 
pleugh, 
Upo" the twa there cam an unco drouth ; 
'Twas somewhere near the foot of Caigton hill,* 
They took a drink out o' a wee clear well, 
Unluckily they told it to some lasses, 
That Caigton hill, was just the real Parnassus. 
Sic uncouth rhymes frae these unpolished brains* 
Unevener far than Pan's pipe at the ends, 
Vm whispered, since they took this rhyming fit, 
Nae decent lass will walk or with them sit, 
And envy now prompts them to try their wit. 
Thus rakes, we know, when: they can get their will, 
'Gainst lasses chaste, thev then invent some ill. 
What I meant by comparing them to Pan, 
Men, women, cattle, dogs, and swine, a ran. 
At vicious rhymes they made them run away* 
As Grecians did when Pan began to play/ 



THE POOR MAN MARRIED. 

O marriage, thou delicious prizen ! 
Maks mony a chiel lose heart and fizen • 
Thousands thee curse, not without reason, 

Drear in the rocks : 
Frae me thous get at least a dizen 

Keen owre hip stroked 
J A high-hill in the parish of Buittle* 



POEMS, iag 

As soon's that a full sentence past. 
The film gets off the een at last, 
Domestic cares in furious blast 

In heaps together; 
And then, poor things, till death bind fast 

In woful tether. 

However far-seen a chiel may think him, 
Cupid's the boy that in can wink him, 
Though to some sourish lump he link hinv 

A Jean or Poliy, 
Ev'n whilst the rivet sure he's clinking, 

Laugh at his folly, 

It's no the shoon, claes, drink, or meat., 
Maks poor chiels misery so great ; 
But I shall mark't and then ye'll see't 

His life is curst in ; 
Perhaps Meg turns a careless heap, 

Instead of busking. 

But that's not a', sweet freedom's lost, 
Nothing so precious man can boast ! 
Look back at what we once prized most, 

But no returning! 
Perplexed and teazed on that sad coast, 

In fruitless mourning. 

So now, poor silly man, ye're buckled, 
To high or low, ance wadna nuckled, 
By word and deed now sadly heckled, 

And spirits broke ; 
Ev'n bow to them tbou never ettled, 

And bear their mo^fe 



136 POEMS. 

Whilst this is read by mony a lass, 
They'll call the bard a rhyming ass, 
With them for solid truth 'twill pass 

Wha ken the smart o\ 
Your whining ways nae mair Til fash, 

I've tint the art o't. 

See Adam in his happy state, 
But mark the she fallacious mate, 
Took a ram-race to thickest brake . 

In fearfu' dizzle, 
Maks harvest shearers curse her yet 

Fdr thorn and thistle. 

Where'er I see a poor chiel tied^ 
To a proud, saucy, haughty bride, 
That scarcely can her joys weel hide, 

What smiles, what wark ft" 
Fd sooner see my friend conveyed 

To Isaac's park.*' 

Nae mair his tozie ruddy cheeks, 
Perplexed with care, xinsound he sleeps*. 
He shears to ane for leading peats, - 

Potatoes too ; 
Dares scarce refuse whae'er him seeks^ 

Sae under cow. 

The lower peasant, past compare ! 
Drounded in this dull scene of care ; 
The higher classes, less or mair, 

To worse will alter j 

* The Grave Digger, 



POEMS. 



137 



But, all ! the former suffer sair, 

In marriage halter. 

'T would not surprise, by this palaver, 
I lose my female reader's favour, 
Yet, when I tell wedlock will never 

Get out of fashion. 
That men for your dear sakes will fever 9 

Sae strong's the passiofc* 

But then, ye needna tak it ill, 

Ye helpY by art, by dress, and wile, 

The like o 1 me we want not skill, 

And penetration, 
See how ye set ye out for sale 

In ilka nation. 

Solomon through the winnock looked, 
Remarked, and wrote down eC about it, 
What weel wove snares to get him hooked, 

Soft dress and smell ; 
But the hale drift, he sadly doubted, 

Led straight to hell* 

Forgive me now, I'm gaun owre far, 
To these we winna you compare, 
Ye singular few that thrifty are, 

But, ah ! ye Ye scarce ! 
And want with you is aft at war — 

Bitter 's the "farce ! 

Once more, the howdy neYr has done^ 
Till ance the bottle it be toom ; 



139 POEMS. 

The greedy matron's fee 's paid down, 

Though nought a hin 

Nae wonder that it makes thee gloom. 

The state ihou's in. 

See, lazy, handless, useless drabs, 
Fortune has placed in rich abodes.— 
O, sirs ! it maks an unco odds 

In look and gesture; 
And even adored like very gods, 

Though a real waster, 

Others, born to a luckless fate, 

Though virtuous, prudent, soon and late ; 

By poverty exposed to hate, 

And bitter tongue— 
That's aft the way in marriage state, 

Through fortune's round, 

Ye scarce a lass can worse assail, 
Then against marriage to speak ill 
Her prayer 's 0"* the blanket reel ; 

But first a bride, 
And then ill-nature vent yoursel, 

Sae lang been hid* 



THE ROUGH JOURNEY. 

That rough the road and dreary is the way, 
Through this sad world oi sorrow, grieij and pain, 



POEMS. 



139 



For so complains each man who 's made a stay, 
Whose years have numbered out threescore and ten* 

Yet, in this vale of tears we've known the sage, 
Whose snowy locks threescore and ten have seen, 
Less troubles meet through 's warfare to engage, 
Than youth's rough passage, scarce yet twenty- 
seven. 

Launched from the womb, we draw the vital air, 
In swaddling bands our helpless frame is dressed. 
Our infant cries soon draw a mother's tears, 
Strong indications this is not our rest. 

The mother's prayers and cares are now employed* 
To sooth the pangs distress her only son ; 
For so it is Nature hath mankind tied, 
Feeling for him she most forgets her own, 

Fanatic dreams which fluctuate the brain ! 
Is not our prayers ev'n sometimes absorbed, 
Desires presumptuous, and our wishes vain ? 
All should be left to an unerring God, 

The death of innocents the parents mourn, 
Nor guilty acts that die in infant state ; 
Why not consider what tempestuous storm? 
Might overwhelm him, or to man's estate, 

As yet no prattle from the lisping tongue. 
Which gains affection and steals on the heart, 
That in the sequel may perhaps be shown. 
No stage in life so eath as this to part, 



140 POEMS. 

Ev'n the young school-boy early troubles find^ 
His stated task hitn restless nights secure ; 
Alas ! no stage in life in which mankind, 
£Jo place on earth from grief and sorrow sure. 

The feelings acute and the memory strong, 
An empty brag, though exquisite possessed ; 
The latter only trouble can prolong, 
Torment our mind with sorrows that are passed. 

For why the finer feelings some possess, 
The mental powers to others largely giv'n, 
If 'twas not for a future state of bliss, 
To be rewarded and enjoyed in heav'n ? 

But now let 's trace the mother's only son, 
Bound for the Indies, costs her many a tear; 
Her promised hope, if once to manhood grown; 
Fleeting and short is each enjoyment here. 

The strong affections of paternal love, 
His sire's sighs and tears incessant flow, 
But all in vain, the youth's desire can't move, 
He takes farewell, and leaves their hearts in woe. 

Had you but seen the mother's bosom heave, 
The father's quivering lip arid trembling hand^ 
To part a son in age might brought relief, 
Perhaps, said they, to die in foreign land. 

Foreboding thoughts at times the mind impress 
Of ills to come to pass, sometimes been known 
Less than a year sari tidings of distress 
Arrives, that Billy shared a w r at'ry tomb* 



POEMS, 141 

Frantic the mother raves and tears her hair, 
1 My lovely Billy ! hadst thou died when young f 
That thy last rites I might performed ; a tear 
Over thy grave. Farewell my lovely son. 1 * 

Now memory, that sad vulture in the mind. 
Brings past endearments all before her eyes ; 
Think not, ye parents, Providence unkind 
If that in infant state your offspring dies. 

Some sorrow thus ; others, like Rachel, pray. 
^The nymph, the swain, may die in slighted love„ 
Some, false accused, may lingering pine away, 
Whilst friendless orphan's left the world to rove t 

Some on the eagle wings of fancy soar, 
But how short lived these visionary dreams^ 
What though the miser grasps his golden ore,. 
Let not thy trust be in terrestrial things. 

The noble faculties, the thoughts sublime,! 
Theiieart susceptible of purest love, 
What here we find serves but to sharpen pain* 
Shall be rewarded in the heav'ns above. 









142 POEMS. 



THE 



TWA DOGS WP AE STANE : 

IN FOUR PARTS. 

Tune — Wooed and Married an a\ 
INSCRIBED TO MR JAMES M'WHIRR. 

So, so, thou braw naigy Pegasus, 
Come gie's a wee hotch on your back, 
Nor meddle wi" wars nor wF lasses, 
For troth we'll mak little by that : 
The former a fash to ilk nation 
Whilst under its burdens they groan, 
The latter too oft a vexation, 
Except modest touts when weVe young. 

Rejoice with me, baith man and woman, 
Repair to your bonny Trades Ha"* ; 
Since Bailie M* Whirr went to Lonon, 
And spak for us baith ane an* a\ 
I'm tald that the ships with their young anes # 
Shall land at the head of our Mall, 
To all our town's profit and fun ance, 
When finished^ the bonny Canal, 

Then Jack shall sing bow -lines and clue-lines, 
Abafts, and his mid ships and eC ; 
The wives and the weans cease their growling^ 
Nor flite for the frost or the snaw. 



POEMS, IK 



At last, now all bribery"^ despised, 
Which indicates greatness of soul! 
Few more worthy deeds advertised. 
Than Craik's perseverance for coal, 

PART II. 

De Peyster of heroic spirit ! 
Who still wishes auld Scotia a bield, 
Still sticks to his duty unwearied, 
And boldly turns on to the field. 
Should Bony attempt to invade us. 
Yet hope that he scarcely will dare, 
Best them to command and to aid us, 
Expert and long practised in war. 

How paltry, how grovelling the mind is, 

How shameful! O what a disgrace; 

Like Graham, who killed Ross, come behind us- 

And dare not challenge face to face ; 

Gif ever the Corsican Tyrant 

But come within sight of our beach, 

Nae sic cowards wad fight then I'll warrant, 

But instantly mak their retreats. 

Great minds soar ^bove pensions and siller, 
When grief and oppression they see; 
Would mair speak wi 1 judgment, like Miller. 
Some less the poor peasant would dree. 
Old Solomon tells of a poor man, 
By wisdom a city set free, 
But soon was despised and looked sour on. 
£*ae freehold nor maiiin had he. 



144 POEMS, 

But wha shall yon Castle inherit, 
Since now good Sir William is gane, 
Our wish is, a youth of great merit, 
Already conspicuous his fame ! 
Considers the poor man's condition, 
Should some tyrant wrang's at the law ; 
Such genius, with bright education, 
Can speak with the best o' them a^ 

PART III. 

Nae doubt you would hear o' yon vultures* 
When night's sable curtain was drawn, 
What time the Laplanders seek halters 
To ride withershins round the Ian'; 
Arabia's desart's not stored, 
With monsters more cruel than they, 
No demon's more subtle and horrid, 
Than villians who lurk for their prey. 

But say, sirs, what wad ye mak o' thern, 
Had ye them when a's said and done ; 
I'll tell ye what I would do w r i' them, 
They'd hang o'er the horns o' the moon. 
Old Atlas should shrug up his shoulders, 
Where Josey undaunted should stan', 
And point them out to the beholders— 
A terror to each cruel man. 

The cudgel that thumped Charter's rumple^ 
Should go like a threshing machine ; 
The pistol made Napier to wintle, 
With double charge shot in their een. 



POEMS. 145 

Wha kens but the vengeance of heaven, 
Might place them in Lethe to the chin. 
Till water and lips baith were even, 
But never a drap could suck in. 

By this time the peasant cries, whining. 
He's right see twa dogs on the muir, 
Gie ane a' the clapping and fawning, 
The tither cries nurr, and looks sour. 
A lady mysel I've seen sullen, 
When getting nae brushing ava ; 
Her titty hard by, on close hauling, 
Take drunt and run hilshing awa. 

PART IV. 

The truth is that pride and ambition* 

Our bodies to miseries enthral, 

Syne whine at our lotted condition, 

It even endangers the saul : 

For instance mark Hornie in heaven. 

Aspired to be meiklest ava ; 

Till he and his crew headlang driven, 

Hell gaped and swallowed them a\ 

But why should we clip up the scriptures ? 
Leave that to the prose- writing tribe, 
Or chiels wha live by hill-side raptures, 
And shake folk o'er fell ere they're dead. 
Though singing, it's still my intention, 
The vicious and ^reed to reclaim — 
But wha kent ye flit for less pension, 
That e'er could secure mair at hame ? 



r 



146 POEMS. 

/ 

But wha kept the key o' the iron chest, 
When Mollance to death's door was near ? 
The siller lent out and drew interest ? 
Wha was it but Young the Cashier J 
Addressive, explicit, discreet ay, 
Nor killed with an affected air, 
Which too aft in clerks we can meet ay, 
But such has nae right to be there. 

Once more> they say Napier's a keen ane. 
Indeed that's them wha gets the len, 
Intending to swindle maun poind them, 
Would not you and I do the same ? 
But still, it's allowed by the candid, 
He soars above immoral pranks ; 
Or diel a' sae lang he would stand it, 
A grief to the rest of our banks. 



R D S BLIND MARE. 

O matchless Meg, I know thy giggle. 
As well as huntsman knows his beagle; 
Though there were threescore in a stable, 

An' mony mae, 
Thy voice to me as sweet's a fiddle 

That weel can play, 

This morn, weel filled shall be thy cap. 
Because thy trace thou lets na slack, 
Whether I sit upo' thy back, 

Or on the dickk. 



POEMS, 14? 

Nae Melgrave deep, can make thee stap, 

Though e'er sae sticky, 

Sae true and faithful to thy trust, 

Where thousands failed, thou'rt still robust, 

Through furious storms, snow, hail and dust 

Thou forced thy way ; 
Thou, e'en in time o' slippYy frost. 

Was my main stay. 

When thou was watered, corned, and trimmed, 
An' me just two. sheets in the wind, 
Thou then wad up and down hill pinned, 

With merry canter, 
Nae whip, but just to guide the rein, 

Thou fast wad scamper. 

How aft hae E— best of skill, 
In one hour trot the eighteen mile, 
I think 'twad made auld Jehu smile, 

On thy best days. 
To see thee at it tooth and nail, 

Upo' the braes. 

That day thou started frae Carlisle, 
?vly brither drove thee in the wheel, 
Thou sprang like ony German steel. 

O'er height an' hollow 
Whilst scores had naething at their tail, 

Behin' did follow. 

Were thy dim orb but blest with sight. 
A fig then for the darkest night 
g2 



148 POEMS. 

Sleep on I wou'd, an' hae nae fright, 

'Twixt Fleet an' Dee, 

Knowing thou'd turn each corner right, 
With merry glee. 

Happy's the lad got sic a brute, 
When he has got a hearty tout, 
For in the days that thou wast stout, 

Whoe'er thy mate, 
Must turn with thee nicely each nook, 

At ony rate. 

Covered or barred shoes thou ne'er needed, 
Nor nailed half round an' left thick-sided, 
Reverse of that, thou couldst have strided, 

A stage barefitted, 
Whether in carriage or to ride it, 

Nor up wad s ticked. 

Thy hide's not stamped with fleam holes, 
Nor furrowed o'er with cursed rolls, 
No shovel shafts to rub thy bowels, 

For croaking bats, 
Which cause hundreds to knock down stalls,. 

With painful guts. 

Were others cautious e^en an' morn, 
As thee at water, hay, and corn. 
Then B— d might Bum his jalop horn, 

Yet B — d's giuie skilL 
These sad diseases soon can turn, 

Where ithers fail 

I know thy spirits wadna bear* 



FOE MS. 149 

To throw it up, an' thee to jeer, 
What I've done for thee far and near. 

An** mak a blaze, 
Yet things like these are aft asteer, 

Self-praise to raise, 

'Twad make me wae to hear some ass, 
That ne'er was past the Dub of Hass*- 
Their homebraid skits upo' thee pass, 

Though ance a-day. 
Thee whose four feet were sound as brass, 

Their hide coif d pay* 

Although auld age benumb each limb, 
There's few a hill can faster climb ; 
To wrang thee now wad be a sin, 

For so we read, 
Whilst thou'rt alive thy feet 111 trim, 

And mind thy feed. 

Whatever way death has it laid out, 
To bring thy last exit about, 
It shall not be by one dire pout, 

Of M \ knife, 

Some ither way, I fain wad hope, 

Thou'lt end thy life, 

For ah ! I'm fleyed when strength's awa, 
And thou can neither ride nor draw, 
Pretended friends will let thee fa' 

To thy own weight? 
In frail auld age, yet after a', 

'Tis far frae right. 
©3 



ISO 



POEMS. 



Auld age is honoured by a few, 
Who gain by death have got in view, 
When that is not the case, I trow, 

They meet disdain^ 
Nor oft'ner comes it from no crew, 

Than just their ain. 

Perhaps they'll tell some hadna been> 
They wadna thee in hardships seen, 
Whilst they're of feeling just as clean, 

As Cloots can make them^ 
For when their golden days are gane, 

They soon forsake them, 



TO ROBERT BURNS. 



The following Epistle was written in the State of 
Pennsylvania, in the year 17 '97. 

When whiper-wills -f scraich loud at een, 
To hail the youthful blooming Spring, 
And wood-peckers return again 

From Carolina, 
'Twas then I took a wee while's time, 

To try my Jenny. 

Your footsteps here, you see, I trace, 
And think them yet well worth a place ; 
Your book; the stationers doth grace 

Through this warm clime* 

f The American Nightingale, 



POEMS, 151 

Scots bodies make a cheerful face 

At Burns's name* 

Yet some forgot their mother tongue* 
Can read it but unco humdrum, 
But whenever I alang-side come, 

I rattiest o'er, 
An^ tell Fm from the very town, 

Where lives you, Sir* 

They ask ma whiles if it was true, 
That you were bred up to the plough, 
They rather think that night ye. drew, 

The trigger keen, 
Stopt from presenting forth your brow, 

Car-legs* between. 

But I maintained ^twas true ye said, 
In youth ye were to ploughing bred, 
An* now yeVe taen the gauging trade, 

Although sae bitter, 
Ye gied them sic a cursed sued, 

In your queer letter. 

Now brither, if I sae may ca' ye, 
IVe told a part what they say o' ye, 
But gif yeM send an answer to me, 

I should be voguey, 
An 4 drink your health with gin and bohea 3 

Or guid egg-noggy. 

My shooting-iron I would seek down. 
And vapouring, swagger through the towo*. 

• A phrase for a minister's tents 



152 



POEaMS. 



-At Glo'ster point to fire three round, 

Just for the joy o% 

To think that ye had Gerrond own'd, 
A brither Poet, 



AN ADDRESS 

fflS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE EDWARD, 

Hail, mighty Prince ! and do not take amiss, 
Or angry be at me for sending this ; 
A Scottish bard, whose muse has been on wing,, 
Your Royal Highness 1 praises for to sing. 

What could 1 less r because you were the first 
I ever saw with star upon his breast ; 
My muse soon prompted with a sight so gay. 
Yourself and men ranked in battle array. 

So clean, so handsome, under such command*, 
An honour and defence unto our land ; 
And now 7 , believe me, flattVy I disdain, 

might these lines your Royal favour gain, 

1 farther on would yet employ my pen* 

May Heaven's choicest blessings you attend ! 
Long may you live to be the poor man's friend ; 
And when your race of honour here is o'er, 
May you arrive upon that happy shore, 
Where Kings and Princes have a firm abode 
Unto eternity, with the great God, 



POEM?. 153 

A LETTER TO J N , Esq. 

Dear Sir, I'm no good a* inditing, 
Nor do I claim pretence in writing, 
The muse wi' me this hour's been fly ting, 

And sair misca'd me, 
With heavy threats, at point o' striking, 

Yet has not awed me. 

Like a' her sex, whiles fu' o** din, 
Enough to deave like ony linn, 
But, as I partly ken her trim, 

I roose and clap her^ . 
Gif that her goodwill dinna win, 

Fient haet does at her, 

Whiles dabbling in amang the mosses, 
Whiles louping owre wee drains and slushes. 
Diverting aft losses and crosses, 

As weePs I may ; 
Thy present, sent wf airy tosses, 

Came cross my way* 

My heart joyed at the bonny sight, 

Yet doubtfif thoughts gied me some fright^ 

Lest curst envy glowred frae some height 

Or lee abodes, 
Whar dwells, if I can style them right 

Some earthly L r ods. 

I'm sure you'd laughed to see the splutter* 
'Twixt joy and fear, U what a flutter ! 
Or sidlins brae in u 1 a gutter 

Lang quarters stack, 



Ui 



POEMS. 



I b'lieve cause nibby could nae cock her 
Was part the faut 

I cowrerl till folks had done wi' staring, 
The hills and echo quit their rairing ; 
Anither grief, I half dispairing 

Gif aught was done, 
Whilst frae the gutters I was rearing 

My bonny shoon. 

Upon a rock I sat me down 
To contemplate what was done, 
In thought to tak a view of man 

Without exception ; 
Strong in my mind, for a' the fun, 

Came this reflection. 

Why pants my heart sae lang wi' fear ? 
'Tis dread some tyrant may be near ; 
Perhaps a clown with a' his gear 

Might me assail, 
Wi' threats of punishment severe, 

Perhaps the jail. 

Thou glorious Sun, that's free to a' ! 
Ye winds, that none can stap to blaw, 
Thou bonny moon and stars sae braw, 

The poor man's guide ! 
On you, if not sae far awa, 

Tax wad be laid. 

Could gentry stap great Sol to shine, 
On poor folk's yard, and poor folk's wean 
Could they on Atlas' shoulders climb 
And toll-bars fix 5 



FOEMS, 355 

The peasant's moon would soon be in 
Total eclipse. 

-As water then forced frae the Thames, 

We'd only get a glint betimes; 

Great thanks is due to him wha reigns 

Aboon ye a\ 
Alike each constellation shines 

On great and sma\ . 

Fm no mistrusting God has placed 
The rich, the poor, for ilka best ; 
For me Fd dread far mair misrest 

And mair oppression. , 
Had peasants whiles the helm to twist 

In higher station. 

Thus, Sir, the panic I was in, 

Has lengthened oat the subject theme. 

Alike to me, if you had seen 

The overthrow ; 
But now-a-days, ane scarcely kens 

Wha's friend or foe. 

But then there'i been sic threats this year, 
Ane scarce can shoot a shot for fear; 
I really wish the teals were here, 

Then for a blatter I 
We'd freely tak a shot that's clear, 

In loch or water. 

And then, I hope, without permission^ 
Nane wade knee-deep in our possessions 
Or. faith he'll get a tar's commission 
Afore the mast ; 
g6 



156 POEMS, 

Before their betters make confession 

That they transgressed* 

Yet, if they humbly own their faut, 
And sheepish look as ane wad ca't, 
Person or purse I weel I wat, 

ShaVt suffer ill ; 
For that's the maist they wad be at : 

Great folks themsel. 

Some individuals, IVe nae doubt, 
Wad like to raze a poor chiel out, 
For trespass on his wee bit clout, 

Scarce worth a name ; 
But few of these live here about, 

As yet we ken. 

For me, "'tis maist like death to whine ; 
Yet if I did for ony thing, 
'Twould be, that I might on a time 

When cares distress tne, 
Slip out when I was tired within, 

And nane harass me, 

Your bonny trees and landscape green, 
Your bonny house, wife, and ilka wean, 
Bunches of pictures and a frien' — 

A noble treasure ! 
Lang may ye live V enjoy the same 

Wi' perfect pleasure. 



POEMS. 157 

A LETTER TO J. H H, Esq. 

As on a tramp, the other day, 

A duck, unsought, eame in my way, 

I thought nae sin the same to slay, 

So thumpit at her, 
Nor quack, nor one ill word did say, 

But down did blatter. 

A compliment to you I make her, 
This season it being the last caper, 
Since ye'd tak naething for your paper, 

Sae roast and eat, 
I for your sake cou'd wish it better, 

Being sae discreet* 

May you hae happiness for life, 
The same, Sir, to your prudent w T ife, 
May you of pleasures ay be rife, 

Thus Gerrond prays., 
In peaceful ease, and free frae strife, 

In golden days. 



THE RAKE AND CLOWN. 

A wee thing whiles breeds a dispute., 
Though folks hae nae intention, 

And how the following came about^ 
I here shall briefly mention. 



158 POEMS. 

They baith had gotten a wee drap, 

Inspired their tongue wi' clatter, 
And now this rakish, rambling chap, 

Began poor John to batter 

Wi' tongue that day. 

RAKE. 

Heigh man ! O John ! but ye look unco thin, 
An* scanty cheeks mak e'en a right lang chin ; 
Indeed it's nine years since I saw your face, 
There's muckle comes and gangs in far less space. 

CLOWN. 

Faith, Tarn, if I may say't, 111 tell nae lie, 
Atween us twa ye look as ill as me; 
It's true, ye hae mair flesh upo' your banes, 
But stay, my lad, till ye hae twa three weans. 

RAKE. 

Married, indeed ! and left your father's house, 
Cleaves to a wife, nae wonder than you're douse*. 
Your clogs confirm the truth of what ye say, 
Ah ! my auld comrade, but my heart is wae; 
Care, sullen care, is painted on your brow, 
Ilk mark of marriage now, with ease, I view. 

CLOWN. 

Stop, Tarn, my lad, if care is set on mine, 

The picture plain, of Rake, is stamp! on thine ; 

Your flesh blown up with I shall not say what, 

But well I see it is not with solid fat. 

But who would spare such rakish, foppish chiels, 

Your just blown up with drink, powder, and pills* . 

Which kind of wark brings on a thousands ills* 



POEMS. 159 

RAKE. 

Poor withered wasp ! right ill ye set your boots. 
Your legs would scarcely be twa German flutes ; 
Sportsmen. I see, stand strong and longest out, 
That poach a while, ere they take licence out. 
Saft coofs like you, aft by the nose are led, 
Nor men has known, norlyet good books have read, 

CLOWN. 

Of good books talk not, ye poor witless wretch, 
Or to thy condemnation I will fetch ; 
Such I will bring from out the sacred line, 
As back my argument and baffle thine. 

RAKE. 

As so do now, diel tak them that's afraid 

Of what's to come, or what has now been said, 

CLOWN. 

I own I'm married, nor think shame to tell, 
The wise man says, < Drink out of thy own well. 1 * 

RAKE. 

Ye mind that better than king Lemuel's speeches^ 
Or better ye this day had filled your breeches, 
I would not give the sweets of single life, 
For all the phrase folks make about a wife. 

CLOWN. 

But, dear man, health will not stan' still the blast, 
Single and married, all men fail at last ; 
Then diel a. ae relation in this life 
Will be sae friendly as a prudent wife, 



160 POEMS. 

RAKE. 

Yes, that I learn, by what I read and know : 
For a' our jaw, to marriage I'm nae foe ; 
I've ev'n known wives unto their husband's stick, 
When deep-laid schemes were tried the same to quit. 
But being contrar to Delilah's taste, 
They fairly failed when they had done their best. 
Indeed, 'twas one through the vindictive dust, 
Their husband's heart could safely in them trust. 
Each thing is best, I own ye, John, my friend, 
That the great God for mankind has ordained. 
Thus parted. they, counting 't the best plan, 
To cherish that fit help was made for man. 



THE DISAPPOINTED SLAE-RIDE. 

For the sake of the Reader ; I shall describe the meaning 
of the Poem. A Slae is drawn by two horses, on the 
top of the snow, or when there is as much snow as keeps 
it from touching the ground ; nor has this sort of car- 
riage any wheels, but slides something like a sledge* 
The sides of it are plated with a bar of German steely 
and turned up at the front end, like a skate. They 
are greatly used in America, both for necessary jour- 
ni'es, and loads of different qualities ; but more par- 
ticidarly for pleasuring frolics a* they call them It is 
counted a genteel treat from any young irtan, to take a 
young lady a S/aeing ; but it was the girl disappoint- 
ing a young gentleman, that occasioned the following 
Poem. 

The Reader must suppose the Gander her Master ; — the 
old Goose her Mistress ; — the Pump -Well, the spring; 
— and the two Goslings, the Girl herselj and Cousin of 
her Master. 



POEMS. 161 

^Twas in the silent watches of the night, 
My musing thoughts took an amazing flight; 
I dreamed I went a roving with my gun, 
'Twas not for greed of gain, but just for fun. 

An 1 sparing not to dash through thick and thin. 
-At last I spied an auld Goose near a spring, 
With two young Goslings seeming in her care 3 
The one dark coloured, and the other fair. 

I started back 3 being struck with surprize, 
To see this old Goose of uncommon size, 
And lowering up as high as spire or steeple, 
Brought to mind like Saul among the people. 

I looked all round, espying for the Gander, 
But yet -I thought the GosUngs were more tender, 
I sharped my flint, and quick I fresh did prime, 
Thought I, one of tnese Goslings shall be mine. 

The sun was down, and it was growing dark, 
I thought the fairest was the surest mark ; 
But just as I got all things in repair. 
This old Goose, sullen, round on me did stare. 

She gave a cackle, up then they all got, 
That was the w ay I fairly lost my sLot ; 
The rooster? now began to make a noise, 
The sight of ch-v makes all the fowls rejoice, 
Bright Phoebus rose, and fairly blinked in, 
Thus I awaked, and found it. all a dream, 

POSTSCRIPT. 
Whether inspired by brandy, gin or wine^ 
Just now I take a second fit to rhyme 5 



162 POEM?. 

Say, general lovers, does it ever fail, 
Are we not better served by top than tail. 

Tho" with lovers tears your face they may anoint, 
And promise fair, yet often disappoint ; 
To make them understand sublime expressions, 
You may as well think to conquer all nations* 

Or set the mill-ponds all on flaming fire, 
Yet let me still raise it a little higher ; 
Keep crazy-head the tide from rolling o'er, 
And cutting capers high from shore to shore. 

If any think that I have been a skitting, 
There*** none need wear the shoe except it fit. them ; 
But here I fling my rhyming quill aside, 
In doubts it came from that old Gooseys side* 

If I thought so, Fd heave it with disdain, 
Never to take it in my hand again. 



A LETTER TO MR W. D S. 

Fav'iute of Fortune, from a brother's hand, 
I mean a brother sportsman, keen as you, 

Think on these lines when travelling o v er the lawn* 
When pussy and the partridge you pursue. 

Of all diversions mortals here enjoy. 

Give me the sweet amusements of the field ; 

Above the rest tbey seem the least to cloy, 
And 'to a troubied breast most comfort vield* 



POEMS, 163 

But I, poor saul, Fortune, 'twad seem had said^ 
That I shall not afford a dog and gun ; 

Yet by Sir VV % and your friendly aid, 

Perhaps, in part, I may enjoy the fun. 

May each good grace smile on thy dawning worthy 
And virtuously reward a father's care, 

And may the tender mother brought thee forth, 
Through thy misconduct never shed a tear. 

Through many various scenes of life, I've been, 
And tried myself a thousand difTrent ways ; 

But of all recreations I have seen, 

None please so well as shooting on the bra^s. 

I own, in youth, I loved to toy and kiss 

With the attracting, sweet, enchanting fair ; 

Ev'n that I found but momentary bliss, 

While disappointment oft increased my care. 

But there's a something, I can scarce tell what, 
About the fair, men scarcely can resist, 

Some love or loadstone draws a body back, 
Or half the number certain would not list, 

September the fourteenth I'll ne'er forget, 

When good Sir W led me up the stair. 

There all the graces seemingly did wait, 
Upon the lovely and the blooming fair, 

Quite unembarrassed, down the Poet sat, 

For troth the kind reception pleased me weel i. 

And then to think I'd such a patron got, 
Some fresh ideas §oon began to feeh 



164 POEMS* 

No gestures vain, puffed up with haughty pride* 
For I was looking out to see what sort ; 

But prudence here and virtue did preside, 
I found the sight answered a loud report. 

Sir W now desired me to repeat 

One of my poems, and to sing a song, 

Whilst a becoming smile adorned each cheek, 
A summer's day 1 would not thought it long, 

The verdant landscape, pleasant to the view, 
Whilst from the grove sweet melody was heard^ 

But 'twas within, my gazing wonder drew, 
The ear and eye charmed of a listening bard. 

So sw r eet the music that Miss D s played, 

Those lily fingers, tapered *mall and white; 

So just the ear of this sweet charming maid, 
'Twoud certain charm Apollo with delight. 

But now farewell— May no deceitful swain, 
With studied falsehood, e'er disturb your rests* 

Nor spoil these looks, now lovely and serene, 
Or discontent raise in your snowy breasts. 



LETTER TO S R. , Baker 

May eViy batch successful prove, 
Thus far runs Gerrond's zeal and love^ 
An' a' wee nackets brawly hove, 

So for a while^ 



POEMS. 165 

Auld wives and bairns will round ye move 
Wr cheerfu' smile. 

With oily tongue, and O how sleek, 
Into your book fu' sly they 11 creep, 
But soon the ither side o' th' street, 

When that's the case, 
And if ye're ain ye only seek, 

Storm in ye're face. 

The ready clink a while they'll gie ye 9 
Syne get in debt, then aff and leave ye, 
That's just the way, kind Sir, believe me, 

An' soon they'll tell 
Your bread is light, and mair ways grieve ye 3 

Too bad to tell. 

O then, in time, dear Sir, take care, 
Before you fall into the snare ; 
Yet speak the clashing gentry fair, 

Be bit by no one, 
Or else down Scarsgate ye may steer, 

An' flit some gloaming. 

If it were so they soon would cackle, 
An' tell your dittos were too meikie, 
Or how your flour, the die! a pickle 

O' it was good, 
Although their maws you aft wad settle 

Wi' wholesome food. 

Now, by my saul. Sir, this is true, 
Though only betwixt me and you, 
Such are a tattling, clashing cre^v, 

Tale-bearing squad 5 



166 



POEMS. 



Though they make a fair outside she# 
Their heart is bad. 

Then watch them, and match them, 

And do the best ye can ; 
Be sly, when ye try them, 

Youll find I know the plan. 



ON HEARING OF J O 's BEING 

MARRIED. 

Alas ! what news is this I hear, 
Or, h ave I dreamed in sleep's career, 
Or may I trust a comrade dear, 

Wha writes he's fast$ 
And bound for life in endless care, 

To stem the blast. 

The news o't pat me in a swither, 

My heart leapt half way o'er my shouther, 

Alas ! thought I, auld rambling brither, 

In th&t drear vale> __ 
And now he's wampled in a tether, 

Just like mysel. 

Lament him, a 1 ye bonny lasses, 

With saut tears trickling down yeVe faces^ 

From pot wrestlers to higher classes, 

He mind ye a\ 
Whilst farmers sons, and sic like asses, 

Did nought ava, 



POEMS. 163 

His tender heart could never stan v 
To see a poor thing looking lang, 
At fairs, when ne'er a fellow came 

WT snap or gingerbread. 
But he wad taen her by the han\ 

An" preed her raw head. 

He ay had cash enough to serve him, 
Thought of want it ne'er came near him, 
CT the best wine he was na sparing 

But dealt it round, 
A real true-hearted harum scarum, 

And bottom sound. 



LADIES RELIEVED. 

Tune -Pretty Maid Milking her Cov>. 

The inventors of wars are uncertain, 

And those that keep't up are the same, 
Be it the sober man or libertine, 

Ladies has nae cause to complain. 
No more nights now spent discontented, 

For what 1 need liere not to name, 
Which ancients most sadly lamented, 

When following the lads know the game* 

Few lairds now or stock-jobbing farmers, 
On daughters can belter dispose, 

Than grant the^e expensive charmers, 
May join the gay lads wear red clothes, 



168 POEMS. 

That down-bearing train being disposed of, 
Might oft keep old dad from the jail; 

Besides, what's the use of old dosed stuff, 
Cheeks wrinkled, instead of a smile. 

No more need our ladies of fashion, 

Draw up to the pitiful stands, 
Nor scour round the dock, gaily dashing, 

Haunt the lover's walk, or green sands. 
If that failed, their topsails were dowsed, 

Close hauled, nought bur jibs then would draw, 
Wheeled round, and their sad fortunes cursed, 

And dolefu 1 , came todlin 1 awa. 

What frighting, and jumping, and squeaking, 

At sodgers, Eve seen in my day ; 
These play-things, lang or within speaking, 

Would like a wild goat skip away ; 
But now, like a ship in distresses, 

Each signal they make for relief, 
Each gesture and motion expresses 

A sodger^s esteemed their chief. 

At first sight, pot wrestlers bundle, 

To get clear of a scolding dame, 
At this there is less room to grumble, 

At those whv> prompt up to their flame; 
By idleness, dressing and gadding, 

Contriving all schemes to entrap, 
When all fjails, make a sodger's wedding. 

And follow the lad with the cap. 

Then who would not sing, row di dowdy, 
And pray tor the lad that can write> 



POEMS. 193 

A bloody ghost, wee Jerrny teek, 

To tak't awa to watte. 
A grusome man, wanting the head, 

Stands ready for to catch ye, 
He soon wad be my wee thing's dead, 

At the close-mouth he'll watch ye, 

When ye gang out, 

L — d help^ but marriage maks ye tame, 

When I look through amang ye, 
The way Fve tauld ye fright the weans,' 

Pm sure I dinna wrang ye. 
For that's the way Scots Boggles rise, 

From all such rhyming cattle, 
'Oh, try to please them other ways, 

With dousy, doll, and rattle, 

Since rhyme ye will. 



THE GOOD OF GROG. 

Tune — One Bottle More. 

By pouring of cold water into my guts, 

Not a tripe in my wame but was seized with the 

bots; 
Whilst a cold sweat bedewed my face like a fog, 
Which had not been the case had the water been 

grog. 

When a yard arm at sea gets a dip in a squall, 
Then stand by your tackle the boatswain will bawl ; 
How hard it might seem to go up the lee shroud, 
Jack climbs without fear emboldened with grog, 

i 



194? POEMS. 

When I'm working for nought, as I call it here, 
Where a tradesman for grog has got little to spare* 
I wish out of soundings, hold reel and heave log, 
Straight bound for the States, where there's plenty 
of grog. 

See a maid at a fair in a morning seem coy, 
In the evening 'tis certain she'll stand to a boy. 

In a place that's convenient perhaps take a 

And keep time to the music, when listed wi' grog. 

I'm told the folks paid for threshing the die], 
Till inspired wi' the drap, they can't do't so weel; 
Then wi' lofty conceptions mak a' the tent shog, 
And please ilk auld wife, when fired wi' the grog. 

When a poor rustic bard is a coaxing his muse, 
If the jilt she be saucy and dare him refuse, 
Good grog clears the wit and the cloud can dispel, 
Let men say what they like of old Helicon's well. 

King Davie lang tried the Hittite in vain, 
To lie with his wife and to cover the shame ; 
Like blisters to sick folk, though failed in the brog, 
For he knew it was vain when he missed with the 
grog. 

Two sisters we learn wished a man to enjoy, 
And lest that old dad to their suit should be coy, 
Gave him liquor to drink, set the old chap a-gog, 
And accomplished the trick by the strength of good 
grog* 



POEMS. 193 

ADDRESS TO THE IMMODEST. 
If I beg leave it ? s no be here, 
Where prices low, and rum *s sae dear^ 
Where with disdain and pridefu 1 sneer, 

The great folks eye ye, 
As if made of some ither gear 

They aft despise ye. 

Nor need I thank ye for past favours, 

Leave that to prosaic palavers, 

Or shopkeepers with whining havers, 

Court lady^s custom, 
But let me tell these fair deceivers, 

Some *s turned disgusting, 

The ponderous hoop we see nae mair, 
But wha to shew their hips maist bare^ 
There fore and aft and upper ware 

Immodest seem, 
With tails tucked up and giddy air, 

O fie ! for shame. 

The kilt I'm ilk day looking for't, 
To gie spectators yet mair sport, 
Oh, when ye start for the West Port 

I Resolve to get it 5 

Fetch me one of the brisket sort, 

A tartan j acket. 

I'm wiel content to see your necks 
And breasts distinguish you the sex, 
But in your vain and wanton geeks 

YeVe peeled sae bare. 
Even dull Morose confess it makes 

Him stand and sta e, 
i3 



196 POEMS* 

Ae night as I was gaun to bed, 
Thought I a night- cap for my head, 
It proved a neat confine the stride 

To mak folks sma', 
I took a laugh and gaped wide, 

We loud gafa, 

The meek man's law sae tied me down, 

Or aiblins I had tried it on, 

Though yet perhaps aboon my thumb, 

Sae strait it looket, 
1 wi' the author had some fun, 

Next day about. 

By chance, mysel, I saw last simmer, 
A buxom, wanton, half grown gimmer, 
Stoop owre a ditch till she wad trim her 

Like Milton's Eve, 
Taen wi' hersel an anxious glimmer, 

I could perceive. 

Matrons and mithers how d'ye like it, 
To see your daughters grown sae glaikit, 
My New York broach in bet I'd stake it, 

Wer't thought the plan, 
They'd rin the streets stark mither naked 

To get a man. 

Could I suppose diels laughed in hell, 
Or dark despair e'er fetched a smile, 
Or saul's condemned e'er could beguile, 

Their dire distresses, 
I'm sure they've haen good laughs this while 

At ladies dresses. 



POEMS. 197 

VERSES TO S— W- . 

Hail ! brither tramp, will ye accept, 
And these lines receive with respect, 
This night Eve taen a rhyming fit, 

To tell you free, 
I find youVe been a dieFs droll pet, 

As weel as me. 

What then, we are nae gaun to gloom, 
Cheer up and never fash your thumb, 
Nor glunch about and look as brown, 

As •■ , when they 

Hae let some chiel get twa three > 

AxC got nae pay. 

Your rambles now are at an end, 
Then let us thus resolve my friend, 
To tak what God pleases to send, 

Ne'er growl about it, 
Since sure the lot no one can mend, 

That he made crooked* 

Or I forget, O ! let us mind, 

To be kind to our wives at hame, 

For diel a hair waur is their , 



Than ony ithers 
Externally appear mair fine, 

In gaudy feathers. 



VERSES EXTEMPORE. 

ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD M ■■&» 

Why blushes Aurora this morn ? 
Why echo confined to her cave I 



IDS 



POEMS. 



Say Neptune, why dost thou mourn, 
While smooth floating o'er the green wave ? 

Alas ! because Edward is slain, 
Fond parents left thus to deplore, 
His true love in tears to complain, 
For her Edward that now is no more. 

Of life how uncertain the date, 
What mortal can promise an hour, 
Go, youth, and contemplate the fate, 
Of young Edward that now is no more. 

Ye fowls that me cheer at the dawn, 
With notes that make vocal our shore ; 
Ye dew sprinkled beasts on the lawn, 
Mourn now, for young Edwards no more, 

Glide softly thou time keeping tide* 
Make not thine accustomed roar ; 
Ye mermaids that sit on the craig, 
Weep now, for young Edward's no more. 

Lament him ye nymphs and ye swains, 
That encircle our peaceable shore ; 
Ye cushats in most plaintive strains, 
Mourn now, for young Edward's no more. 

The crimson fluid through each vein, 
Warm streaming can vibrate no more, 
Let each feeling heart now complain, 
For young Edward, that now is no more* 

What Asahel swift to escape, 

Yes, say eagle like could we soar, 

Even there we'd meet death in some shape> 

And soon be as young Edward, no more. 



POEMS. 199 

THE PORTRAITS 

Ye'll easy guess wha here I mean, 
After what past us twa between, 
And what yersel hae heard and seen, 

The Lord be near us t 
In hopes to match the hellish spleen 

Of Gazeteerers. 

Of 2? I saw or e'er heard tell, 
In which envy and malice dwell, 
And clattering amang themsel, 

Gie them the crown ; 
O, send for Tarn o' Linkers bell 

To mak a soun\ 

Some swagger on the price o 1 skines, 
Wage petty war wF hoys and weans* 
Perplexed wF jealous auld hens, 

Not easy carried, 
Like poets, after a** their pains, 

Packed afF Ve garret. 

The floating surface of whose brains, 

The meaner oddities contains ; 

So when interred^ the poor remains, 

By way of skit, 
The boys shall in exulting strains 

Say, here lies S L 

A mote as big's the end of Screel, 

In their own blinkers they'd not feel, 

Yet see a c — k for midge's tail 

Soon F their neighbours s 
i 4 



200 POEM 3. 

The solid truth of you I tell, 

Ye low bred jibbers. 

Doubtless our wee town may contain 
Some honest hearted friendly men, 
Or sunk down to Auld Nickie's den 

We'd be some nighty 
In Leth's black river up to the chin-, 

Quite void of light, 

They saw auld Clootie's tricks increasing, 
So got a fresh hand in to thresh him, 
Now ye m^y think't a harsh expression, 

And something coarse ; 
But even with their own confession, 

They still grow worse, 

A penny lent, twa pence taen on, 
In ae day's kent through a* the town, 
A new coat bought, or a new gown, 

Gazetted brisk ; 
Whase ■■ - is rising, or whase down, 

Is on the list. 

I'm sure, sirs, ye'll scarce ever blame me ; 
I wish your Portrait may reclaim ye : 
Meanwhile be thankfu' I don't name ye, 

And point ye out s 
But still 'tis in my power to trim ye, 

Gif ye brak out, 



THE TORTOISE-SHELL, Extempore. 
Nor the knife, nor the shears, nor the tweezers for 

hairs, 
Nor the silver, nor braw tortoise-shelly 



*DEKfiU 201 

None so much Fd admire to raise poetic fire, 
As a glance of Miss N s dear sell. 

So exqu r sitely neat, formed by nature complete, 
And then sic twa bewitching een, 
With a sweet lovely face, she injustice might grace^ 
Yon bravv castle our bard viewed yestreen. 



THE HUMOURS OF A PUBLIC HOUSE. 

Whilst I review the different scenes of life, 
What raise our joys, but too oft end in strife ; 
But did you see the man would ever own, 
He haunted taverns but to drink alone ; 
But let me "ask of you, wha ken far better, 
Would he staid long gif there were nought but 

water ? 
Such lies are told about the public-house, 
Some noisy are, while others are more douse ; 
Me of the former whiles, I will not lie, 
Not without cause, Fll tell you by- and- bye 

These greedy rooks, I own, pass my description, 
Their knavish tricks still more deserve detection. 
'Twixt John o* Groats, I'll say, and that's nae 

clatter, 
And Boggles-holes, there's nae man kens them 

better ; 
Some far-fetched ways, and schemes as deepV the 

diel, 
Draughty as loadstone sucks the polished steeL 

Now on the other hand Fll take t ei* part 
Wherein I can, Fil do't with 2? my hearty 

§6 



202 poejis. 

What men oft rhyme, still women oftener say, 
Drink a" at night, they winna trust next day. 
But who can blame them, though this be the case, 
When trusted once nae mair they see their face ; 
Though ifs proverbial, His a truth I'm saying, 
Like trusted books, they never think on paying. 
Young Bell roosed trust, Tarn Mac that blethers 
still, 

When tipsy whiles o'er slippry J- e's yill. 

But now-a-days, O sirs, what whisky breeds, 
What sad diseases, and at last folks deads ; 
What ragged weans, and broken-hearted wives, 
At last drags out their piteous lingering lives. 
Both purse and person, all the mental powers, 
The poisoned draught benumbs, and soon devours. 
Men of the greatest judgment, just and cool, 
Intoxicate how simple, what a fool. 
How rich, how strong, how wise, in self-conceit, 
Yet evVy word and gesture shews him weak ; 
Bewildered, pilfered, cheated, bruised, and a', 
For ilka chalk that's just, they mark him twa ; 
Still, if he's rich, he*s carefully shown to bed, 
His shoes are cleaned, and night cap for his head, 
False coaxed at night, and flattered next day, 
O, sir, dear sir, your nought out of the way, 
Before ye gang do take a cap of tea. 
Not sweeter drops the honey from the comb, 
Than fulsome flattery from the hostess" tongue, 
Nor was the Florence oil e'er seen more smooth, 
Then d — — d deceitful words flow from her mouth r 

. Let's now view the unwary wretch and poor, 
Approach with sad unguarded steps the door ; 



POEMS. 20<? 

Frae tradesman's shop, perhaps frae dyke or ditch, 
With a few hard earned shillings in his pouch. 
Now slow he steps, and reasons all the while, 
< This night as wont drink shall not me beguile, 
Nor spend the money of my hard w r eeks toil; 
Come prudence, care, and resolution strong, 
And for to chuse the right and leave the wrong. 
Hence needless frolics, farewell and adieu, 
For virtue's paths still onward I'll pursue.' 

Alas ! how weak, from ills how insecure, 
When folly against reason bolts the door, 
On rocks we venture where we split before ; 
To raise the dimple in the harlot's cheek, 
I'm told the sight of those will have th' effect; 
The yill wife's smiles must be with money bought^ 
Or soon like the w e's dimple come to nought, 

Proud of his cash, now baldly in he steps, 
Where he of his late reasoning all forgets ; 
Now in the kitchen placed at first, where he 
Drinks and makes drink, and pays it off with glee. 
Not only that, but pays his former score, 
The gleg-eyed host sees still he has in store ; 
By host and hostess each deep scheme is laid, 
The giglet lass, 'tis rash to call her maid, , 
The hostler too. Miss Fairface syne comes in, 
Says, Sit na here, dear sir, please to step ben ; 
Now sir or master calls out every 6ne. 
No fire, excuse sir, soon we'll get one dn. 
As yet he knows that all this honour 's paid, 
To the few shillings that the landlord eyed ; 
Well reasoned master, but before 'tis twelve 
Robert ye'll get, perhaps but Rab itseL 

16 



204 



POEMS. 



But now we call the hale luuf-mutchkin in, 
It comes, the beads ride clear above the ring, 
Far above proof, just new from Edinbro' brought. 
Which drave Rab's resolutions a' to nought ; 
Rab one of those, when rich called a good fellow, 
When on the racks, a blackguard, fool, and shallow ; 
As ravens sagacious of their carrion fare, 
Pretended friends they gather round to share, 
What such free-hearted chiels will easy spare. 
The cash now scarce, he whistles, knocks, andrings^ 
The fire's let out, and no one liquor brings. 
At firsf 'twas Master, yon gentleman 's calling, 
But now they lilt, That noisy blockhead's bawling, 

< Now, Peggy, swear the beds are a' taen up. 
And I'll misca', syne try to get him out; 
In our own house hell scarcely dare rebel, 
Come join with me and let's black-ball him well. 
But shut the door, now Peggy we*re alane, 
Gif this should fail, Fll try another scheme ; 
I'll tell your master, he three glasses broke, 
And has nae siller for to pay his shot/ — 

* Stop ! that's ungratefu', that is far from rights 
Ye ken they drank together the hale night ; 
Besides, remember when he is himsel, 
His spirit 's good, both manly and genteel ■; 
The note he changed, I'm sure ye got it all, 
And will ye hurt his feelings with a brawl.' 

Loud spake the host, * Forbear, I'll not endure 
A man driven out at such an irksome hour. 
Direly I know some women us their tongue; 
As ill-bred cfyfjes do whiles their nieves or rang.* 
As men at sea when on the beam ends laids* 



poems. 205' 

Fresh courage rouse when ships come to their aid? 

Thus Peggy she, from what her master said. 

Glad of a chance, Peggy, wha scorned to lie, 

Bitter and snell let at her mistress fly ; 

Clears up what we had promised by-and-bye. 
4 Ill-natured strum, ye're as bad, if not worse., 

As Nip M'Carty near the Flying Horse ; 

Or yon glib kimmer, where three waters meet, 

That form the Cairn, and make it run so deep ; 

Or Clock-case Bel], whose greed excels them all* 

Signs fore and aft the strangers in to call. 

Or glowring J n, who took the part of such 

As thought to twin the Bard of four-and-six, 
Ae night when met a band of vulgar cuds, 
When Davie Doit gied lank- sides ay sic blauds* 

TL wonder not, by nightly labour strained, 
Syne frets at what nature has ne'er ordained.'— 
' Ye gipsy hold ! no more — or I'll expose—' 
* Yes, do ! Fm fearless of your tongue or blows, 
There's such as you a scandal to our sex> 
Whose words and deeds a heathen Turk would vex; 
And of your way and manners be ashamed, 
Of late we know the innocent was blamed.' 

As in the oven swells the barmy loaf, 
As bladders swell when blown up by bovs' mouth* 
Like Whittle-Penny at the Auld Brig-end, 
Flew at the Bard's face like a clocken-hen ; 
But weak impertinence met with a repulse, 
Some new coined sentence pride's poor nervei 

convulse ; 
Should Whittle- Penny strut like a Diana 5 
The natural temper 's fierce like a hyaena : 



£06 POEMS. 

It must be owned folks temper *a no that sicker 
When dabbling and intoxicate with liquor. 
Yell aft hear women say ' He's never right 
Till owre him comes my tongue wf a* it's might. 
For me, whilst on swift pinions flies my tongue. 
No bosom snake shall ever sing me dumb. 



THE CHOICE. 



In this tumultuous scene of woe and care, 
Wh^re most of men live half 'twixt hope and fear % 
Would heaven but grant, there'sonerequest Tdhave, 
So much as independent I might live. 
Of tramping tired, whatever might betide, 
IM have my dwelling close by the sea- side ; 
At the White Cove, upon my friend's estate, 
Not pompous grand, vet each thing should be neat i 
For now, from what I've seen, you may be sure, 
I would not trust me in a tyrant's powY. 
Not such a recluse hermit would I live 
But I would visit and a friend receive ; 
Friends they should be who knew the scenes of life^ 
Nor lived in fear of what is called a wife ; 
Such in particular as have wrote, and read 
The best of authors of the rhyming trade. 
On points of war Vd not have them discourse, 
They scarce could talk of ought could please me 

worse : 
On the other hand, scarce ought could please so well 
As to sit and hear a long minute detail 
Of August sports, how many brace were shot, 
And who so lucky as killed the old black cock* , 



POEMS. 



207 



My trusty barrel backside of my bed ; 
Of authors Milton should be next my head, 
Such daring flights I dearly like to read : 
Dear Pomfret too, how pleased I'm with his Choice, 
And Pope, of all the poets most concise. 
Thomson and Ramsay, Burns too, I admire^ 
Dryden's bright flash, and strong poetic fire. 
To mind me of my latter end, I'd have 
Blair's sweet and usefuf poem on the grave : 
Hei vey's prosaic numbers should be there, 
While Zimmerman's admired works declare, 
That far from bustle and ignoble strife 
Nothing excels the sweets of rural life. 

I'd often walk along the healthsome beach, 
And shoot such fowls as came within my reach ; 
Of ducks, or teals, plovers, or whaups more rare, 
Of these real friend, in gratitude should share; 

D s and G n, N r, and K — y too, 

With more I've praised, of lesser note 'tis true. 

Should ever independence be my lot, 
I'd choose to live on this romantic spot ; 
Taught by experience happiness and good 
Is seldom found in a vexatious crowd. 



THE WAYS OF THE WARLD, TO T. C. 

Dear brother, the warld's a' gaun wrang, 
Good social friendship's left the Ian', 
The diel a ane ! that I should ban, 

Thought worth a feg. 
Except it be some mickle man 

In chaise or gig. 



108 



POEMS. 



And then, nae odds how he came at it, 
Although some hundreds he had cheated, 
Sequestrate, and then he's fitted, 

His feet i' fog ; 
Even brag how weel he kend the cleek o\ 
*■ To play the rogue. 

Even bring a demon straight frae — — 
And let his pouch wV guineas swell, 
Yes, even say some kend it weel, 

'Twad be respected ; 
Whilst honest poor, ye ken yoursel, 

Wad be neglected. 

But warst of all, a hypocrite 
I hate to see upo 1 the street, 
With seeming holy heart he'll meet 

At kirk on Sunday, 
But try his best if he can cheat 

His friend an Monday* 

There's nane sae harshly censures others, 
Their sting is warse than hissing adders, 
With bitter taunts and uncouth blethers,. 

Of smooth deceit ' r 
Or right or wrang his gear he gathers, 

Both soon and late. 

But to address both high and low— 

Pride and ambition, cruel foe ! 

What thousands by these now' -laid' low 

In bloody wars, 
JjLnd prove hale countries' overthrow 

la needless jar*? 



POEMS. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Tam, try for something o' your ain, 
Ye'll fin' that ay the staunchest frietf ; 
And mind, pencil or rhyming pen 

There's little fort ; 
What madness for to rack our brain 

For others' 1 sport. 

I grant ye genius hae for baith, 

But tent envy's hyaena breath, 

To ken you famed Hwad be like death ; 

To neighbours round 
For you to climb Parnassus cliff, 

Their grief profound* 



209 



CHARMING NELLY, 
A SONG. 

Tune — Katharine Ogie* 

How pure the breath of vernal spring, 
With buds and blossoms gaily, 
Blithe frisk the lambs, birds sweetly sing t 
Such pleasures meet me daily. 

Blest with a friend and flowing bowl, 

Yet best of a\ I'll tell ye, 

More cheered my heart, and charmed my soul^ 

With my dear lovely Nelly, 

Were I transfixed upon a rock, 
Where ruffian billows beat me, 
Should Boreas blast my stock and crop^ 
Era these they would not fret me^ 



210 POEMS. 

Should I like Neptune take a trip 
In his Iscallop shelly, 
Quite fearless I, while by my hip 
Sat my dear charming Nelly. 

She's spotless as the mountain snow, 
Her form can't be described, 
Nature, a masterpiece to show, 
The work she'd not divided. 

Long searched the graces round and round 
A place wherein to dwell ay, 
How honoured she at last they found, 
My matchless charming Nelly. 



CLENNOCHAN'S POTATO. 
A SONG. 

Tune — Dainty Davie. 

Adsooks ! Jamie, let's taste the blue, 

Dear boy, Til give you something new, 

'Bout Clennochan's potato! 

And Clennochan's an honest man, 

As e'er came owre from Paddy V lan\ 

And now the chorus of my sang 

Is Clennochan's potato. 

CHORUS. 

When Scotia's wives the pigs do feed 9 
The farmers wha hae Cfennocfrs breed, 
Shall bless the day they got the seed 
Of ClennocharCs potato* 



POEMS. 211 

When auld prognosticating swine 
The farmers warn of wind and rain, 
'In morning grunt, they justly claim ] 
A Clennochan's potato. 
Such virtue "s in this fruitful lith, 
Our ladies they can in a gliff, 
Make ilka frill stand out fu' stiff 
With Clennochan's potato. 

When Saturn cold glents frae the north, 
Tom longed to see that fertile earth, 
Which ne'er to snake or toad gave birth, 
But Clennochan's potato. 
A kind reception Tom receives 
Where he had spent his youthful days, 
Or e'er our bard had tuned his lays 
To Clennochan's potato. 

Neighbours stood round to take farewell. 

Whilst Tom lugged out the sinishing mill, 

Unthinking he would raise a drill, 

From this Cork red potato. 

Thrice shipped and unshipped was his load, 

For ay his heart clave to the sod, 

At length he wheeled and took the road 3 

With this far-famed potato. 

At length care wf his solemn grane, 
Like ale wives when our cash is gane, 
Bade Tom think o' his wife and hame, 
And mind the great potato.- 
Tom started, staring gae a glowr, 
And wished him safe o'er Stranygowr* 
Said he, I pocket that nor more, 
But moved the great potato. 



$12 POEMS* 

Here greed * stalked round in shape o** men, 

What's in Tarn's bag they a' maun ken, 

Surprised what met their finger end, 

Their ain dear shoy potato. 

What traveller e^er met sic folk, 

To nestle kists or ripe a poke, 

Not greedier grumphy steals a hoke, 

At Clennochan's potato. 

Where Tom was wont to hae a splore, 

And join the truly mystic roar, 

He knocked, whilst open flew the door, 

Heaved in the great potato. 

The landlord blithely stepped ben, 

Made signs nane o' the women ken, 

Or they had blabbed it out lang syne* 

Sing Clennochan's potato. 



THE FINISHING OF THE BOTTLE. 

A SONG. 

Love's cares might torment me if single I am, 
And all my whole senses bewilder, 
If married, you know I have still more in hand 5 
Perhaps a great scold and her childer. 

Should landlords look blithe when my money is done, 
The hostess come smilingly into the room, 
Should all this fine sunshine be turned into gloom* 
I'd finish the last of my bottle. 

Should Bony presume our braw island to see* 
He'd meet with repulse and disaster, 

* fiebbery mcn x petty officers so called* 



POEMS. 213 

Though nations combine we are still king at sea, 
It's there we're completely their master. 

Should the rainbow cease to appear in the cloud, 
And for a new ark they were cutting down wood., 
I'd socially sit with a friend that was good, 
And finish the last of my bottle. 

No Corsican tyrant shall plunder our shore, 
Though mischief he still doth intend us. 
We'd shew him the scenes of a new Trafalgar, 
Whilst Britain stands true to befriend us. 

Should nature convolve and change night into day, 
And old Terra Firma's great axle give way, 
I'd turn up the glass as I sled down the brae^ 
And finish the last of my bottle. 



PARTON PLACE. 

A SONG. 
Tune — Garb of Old Gaul. 

From the heart cheering rays of the bright blazing 

sun, 
When his beams he displays o'er the wide horizon, 
From a poetic grove, I was struck with surprise, 
Whilst a neat stately building delighted my eyes. 

Here the lambs sporting motions, and fleet running 

hare, 
Of their loves and their joys I began to inquire, 
When the blackbird and thrush on swift wing left 

the throng, 
And they whispered me blithe that Sir James he 

was come. 



214 POEMS. 

From yon snow mantled hills joyous floods tumble 

down, 
Bonny burns and clear rills chorus up with my song, 
Syne your beauty display o'er our flower spangled 

meads, 
Then like scape goats roll on, drown our fears and 

our dreads. 

Tell old Neptune our cares we give up to the wind, 
Since Sir James has returned and his lady so kind ; 
As old Glaud now, our peat stacks shall all be on 

fire, 
Since her goodnes is equal to that of her sire. 

Shall my dear native stream o^er his gold pebbled 

bed* 
In sweet murmurs proclaim that our sorrows are 

fled, 
Nighf s drear bird from yon tower shall no more 

now complain, 
No; the lark he shall soar, and the mavis shall sing. 

All tyrannical humours now fast lay aside, 
Why, why breed disputes w r hen fair offers are made? 
The revered name of Gordon is dear to us a\ 
O, our hearts they would break should Sir James 
gang awa. 

P. S. 

Kind is the sex to them who favorites fa\ 
But steer me clear when ance they tak the thravrj 
In either extreme they rin owre neck and a\ 



POEMS. 215 

SONG ON A. M/s BEING MAJOR. 

Tune — Shepherd's of Galloway, 

Bright Phoebus this morn had scarce purpled the 

east, 
When we'gan to rejoice and to count ourselves blest, 
With what pleasure the sage and the youth spent 

t^ie day, 
Since young Murray henceforth his own sceptre 

shall sway. 

You may talk of the ancients conspicuous in fame. 
Great battles have fought and ten thousands have 

slain, 
But more dear to our hearts to see Fortune's gold 

wings, 
Stretched over a youth who the poor man befriends. 

Shall the lank sided miser e^er gain our applause, 
Thro" greed starves himself and inverts human laws, 
Givemethe friends in whom I can trust a sure bield, 
That with freedom take sport on the gay healthful 
field. 

Some tyrants despise and look down with disdain, 
Which makesus rejoice that young Murray'sour ain. 
Now his health shall go round, and our bumpers 

flow o'er, 
Till our fleet isles resound like the banks upon Orr. 



i THE LASS OF THE HILL. 

Composed going up Enterkin. October 2d, 1810. 

Ye city bred ladies go mincing and strutting. 
For a time do not take it ill, 
The truth is your manners are sometimes provoking 
Compared with the lass near yon hill. 



216 POEMS, 

Your boarding-school manners and Chesterfield's 

Letters, * < 

Your Smollets have little avail ; 
Your lady acquaintance is cramped as in fetters 
Compared to Miss W h near yon hill. 

Had it been in the days of my braw grass green 

jacket, 
To entice when I used my best skill, 
Yd surely turned back a while for to crack, 
With Miss W h near the brow of the hill. 



LETTER TO COLONEL G N. 

As Phoebus declining last night, 
Left the summits of hills tipt with gold, 
What IVe sent you got quick under wing, 
But the hai] proved impetuous and bold. 

Alas ! I hae little to spare, 
And find trusty friends there's but few., 
The mair need hae I to take care, 
IVe sent this small present to you. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 
{724)779-2111 



